


Content With Closeness

by blehgah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Chan and Soonyoung are close. Soonyoung knows he has a special relationship with his maknae, and he tries to navigate the constantly changing tides of their continuously growing friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "From ivory depths words rising shed their blackness, blossom and penetrate. Fallen the book; in the flame, in the smoke, in the momentary sparks—or now voyaging, the marble square pendant, minarets beneath and the Indian seas, while space rushes blue and stars glint—truth? or now, content with closeness?"  
-Virginia Woolf, Monday or Tuesday
> 
> special thanks to robin for dealing with constant screencap spam, and special thanks to chelsea for dealing with So Much Text, All The Time.

They kept strange hours. Practice until 4am some days. Mornings that start at 7am. Too much time spent awake in the am hours.

Naturally, it meant they took sleep whenever it came. Sometimes that meant crashing on a couch in the middle of the day.

Chan is a cuddler. Soonyoung wonders if it’s an older brother thing. Soonyoung has two sisters, so he wouldn’t really know.

It’s nice, though. Warm and soft. And safe. 

Soonyoung is especially concerned about that last part. Taking Chan under his wing meant Soonyoung is especially concerned about a lot of things involving his dongsaeng. Everyday things like comfort, security, hold more gravity nowadays.

So when Soonyoung wakes up to hips grinding against his thigh, his first instinct, surprisingly, is not to run—it’s to examine the situation.

Soonyoung has a bit of a quick temper. He’s not proud of it. And though, once his brain wakes up enough to understand what is writhing against his body, one of the first things he feels is alarm, he manages to stay calm. He’s got the grogginess to thank for that.

Chan’s eyes are closed and his mouth is open. His breathing is laboured and warm against Soonyoung’s chest. His thigh is hooked over Soonyoung’s, keeping his legs open and his pelvis pressed against Soonyoung’s body.

He’s dreaming. There’s no way Chan would do this while conscious.

Soonyoung takes a few breaths. This is definitely weird. But it can’t be too long before Chan inevitably makes a mess and Soonyoung would like to keep the mess to a minimum.

It gets weirder when Soonyoung’s body reacts to Chan’s by sending blood southward. Maybe the mess is gonna be bigger than he’d like.

Soonyoung’s heart hammers in his chest. This is weird, but they’re friends, and Chan is like a little brother to him, and it would throw a wrench in their working relationship if they made this weird, and as the leader of the Performance Unit, Soonyoung can’t afford to have a shaky relationship with anyone, let alone the other main dancer. 

Getting up and leaving seems to be the simplest choice here. But they’d have to talk about it at some point. Or maybe they wouldn’t. That would make this choice the easiest one, too.

But Soonyoung doesn’t think he’d be able to forget about this so easily. Chan’s heat is slowly burning into him, scorching marks into his skin under his clothes, and he can’t decide if he likes it or not. That question alone is enough to make him wonder. And wondering means thinking, not forgetting.

Chan moans and the sound wakes him up. He stops moving.

All Soonyoung can hear is the drum of his heartbeat and the gradual steadying of Chan’s breathing.

Slowly, Chan opens his eyes. His thighs tense around Soonyoung. His entire body freezes up.

Soonyoung swears he can feel Chan’s heartbeat through his dick against his thigh.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says, quietly, because having the first word puts him in a position of control.

Chan tenses further. He tries to draw away from Soonyoung, but there’s nowhere for him to go but the back of the couch.

“Hyung,” Chan replies, and it’s almost a sob.

“Shh,” Soonyoung murmurs. He takes Chan’s face in his two hands and Chan tries to shake him off.

“I’m so sorry,” Chan chokes. His voice is thick and hoarse and Soonyoung feels pity in his stomach, leaden, sinking.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Soonyoung tells him. He tries for Chan’s face again and this time, Chan allows it. Chan closes his eyes and bows his head, but he stays in place.

Soonyoung swallows.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says, “it’s okay. Actually—”

His heart hammers in his chest and for a second, he fears it will tear his ribs down.

He can’t believe the words that sit on the tip of his tongue. But it feels like the right choice. Somehow.

“Let hyung take care of it,” Soonyoung whispers.

Soonyoung slips a hand down between their bodies, seeking the intense heat. Chan’s eyes snap open and he stares up at Soonyoung openly.

The vulnerability on Chan’s face carries with it such a gravity that Soonyoung feels heavy as a steel beam and he’s hurtling through the air so fast his eyes are watering. But the trust that it takes for Chan to look at him like that is enough for Soonyoung to know he’ll land safely, intact.

Chan’s eyes are huge as they slide down from Soonyoung’s face down to his hand. He’s so young. Maybe it shouldn’t be Soonyoung who shows him this for the first time, but maybe it really should be—Soonyoung won’t judge him for his inexperience. Soonyoung will hold him through it. Soonyoung will take care of him.

The thought gives Soonyoung courage as he slips his hand into the waistband of Chan’s pants.

Chan jerks upon contact. His hands instinctively find the front of Soonyoung’s shirt and curl into it.

Soonyoung can be his anchor. He wants to be.

Holding someone else’s dick is not so different from holding his own, Soonyoung thinks. At least in terms of physical sensation. 

He can feel his heart fray at the edges as Chan slowly, hesitantly, cautiously curls towards him, buries his face in Soonyoung’s shirt. Chan hiccups tiny little moans as Soonyoung works him, and each sound pulls a seam loose from Soonyoung’s heart. To think such small noises could be so powerful.

To think such a young boy could have such a hold on Soonyoung’s heart.

Soonyoung wants to take care of him, wants nothing more than to see this boy happy. It’s strange, but maybe it’s a hyung’s duty.

It doesn’t take long for Chan to come and Soonyoung catches all that he can in his palm. Chan took care of the early stages himself in his sleep; Soonyoung is only here to ride the rest of it through with him.

Chan breathes heavily through his nose. And when he speaks, the sound is so heavily muffled by Soonyoung’s shirt that Soonyoung almost doesn’t hear it.

“Thank you, hyung,” Chan says.

Soonyoung wraps his free arm around Chan’s waist and pulls him in for a brief but tight hug.

“I’ve got you, Chan,” Soonyoung replies. He gives him another squeeze.

Chan huffs, but he’s still panting, so Soonyoung doesn’t think much more of it.

“Um,” Chan says after a while, “let’s—can I go to the bathroom to, to clean up?”

Chan finally lifts his face from Soonyoung’s shirt. His cheeks are puffy from sleep and a fading red. His eyes reflect the redness and Soonyoung blames it on their midday nap.

“I’ll come with you,” Soonyoung replies.

They untangle their limbs and get to their feet with creaking knees. They’re too young for this.

Still blinking away the haze of sleep, they stumble their way to the nearest washroom. Soonyoung finds the nearest sink and washes his hand while Chan takes the next one to splash his face with water.

“Hyung,” Chan calls eventually, voice trembling with timidity.

Soonyoung turns the taps and the steady stream of water comes to an abrupt halt. Water drips into the sink basin for a few breaths.  _ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

“You…” Chan continues on a shaky breath. “You—would you like it if I—if I touched you, too?”

Soonyoung blinks. He lifts his eyes to glance at his reflection in the mirror in front of him just to make sure he’s still there. A few inches away from the image of his face is Chan, wearing an expression that is bright and reserved at the same time. He’s good at that, Soonyoung has found, like he’s afraid of showing every single facet of radiance he’s got hidden away in that young heart.

Soonyoung closes his eyes. He knows he was affected by Chan’s dream. He knows he was affected by his own solution to the problem.

Reciprocity might be good. Balance is often a good thing. And would it really be so bad to let Chan touch him back?

Soonyoung opens his eyes and turns to meet Chan’s gaze.

“I think,” Soonyoung says, “I would actually like that a lot.”

Chan blushes. Red clouds his skin and the rich hue mixed with the yellow bathroom light is beautiful and vibrant like a poisonous flower. But there’s a hint of a smile on his lips, excitement in the shape of his eyebrows, and Soonyoung knows there’s no resisting him.

Soonyoung locks the door and presses his back against it.

“Come here,” he calls, and Chan steps forward without hesitation.

Being on the receiving end of someone else’s hand helps Soonyoung understand why Chan didn’t turn him down. It helps him decide that he made the right choice after all.

He squirms against the door and the ceiling lights are red against the back of his eyelids. Chan has one hand on his dick and one hand on his upper arm, holding him in place, keeping him tethered.

Maybe it’s fitting that they show this to each other. It’s a great place to start; what could go wrong between two beginners?

Soonyoung bites his lip to quiet his moans as he approaches his peak. Out of curiosity, he opens his eyes and finds Chan staring up at him with a wide, open gaze, and buried in it are stars made of yellow strip lights. 

It’s safe here, suspended in Chan’s space.

He holds Chan’s gaze as he comes. The eye contact tears a couple more seams in Soonyoung’s heart, but it makes his orgasm that much more intense, he thinks.

Soonyoung bows his head. He gulps in greedy breaths that expand his chest into Chan’s space, but it’s warm there, cottony, buttery soft, and he’s floating a few inches off the ground.

“Hyung?” Chan calls to him. He’s closer now. Slowly entering Soonyoung’s space to inspect his face.

Soonyoung slicks back his hair out of his eyes and manages a shaky smile.

“Thank you, Chan,” Soonyoung says. He’s not sure if gratitude fits the situation, but he feels it, nonetheless.

Chan smiles up at him, bright and warm and surprisingly easy, before he steps away to wash his hands.

When they exit and leave that moment, that universe where they were temporary lovers, they return to the practice room, to their home realm of reality, and Soonyoung finds nothing has exploded in his face.

It sets a bad precedent. Or a really good one, depending on the time and place and perspective.


	2. Chapter 2

Soonyoung has hit a wall with choreography and he is this close to smashing his head against the wall. He stares at the nearest one with an intense gaze, willing it to crumble, just to see something break.

A hand falls onto his shoulder and Soonyoung feels the urge to snap it off with his teeth, a flash of irrational anger.

When Soonyoung trails his eyes up the arm attached to the hand, his chest loosens up, albeit fractionally.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says. 

Chan offers him a small smile. “You looked pretty out of it there, hyung,” he replies. “I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Chan helps with choreography, too, but this routine is still in the early stages; it’s Soonyoung’s sprout to which he’s been tending on his own.

Soonyoung sighs and rubs his forehead with his fingers.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Soonyoung says. “I’m not doing so hot.”

He stalks over to the couch in the middle of the room and sits in the crease between the two cushions. He can’t help but tap his foot, nervous energy simmering hot in his blood.

Chan takes a few steps forward, trailing after Soonyoung, but he doesn’t bridge the gap between them.

“It must be hard,” he says, “trying to focus when you’re frustrated.”

“Yeah, well.” Soonyoung shrugs with more force than necessary. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Chan comes closer, hesitant footsteps barely making a sound over hardwood, until he’s standing by Soonyoung’s knees.

“Would you be willing to take a break?” Chan asks. “Just a short one.”

Soonyoung looks up and eyes Chan. Wonders what he’s planning.

“I guess I should,” Soonyoung acquiesces. He watches Chan take a seat next to him. “But just a short one.

Chan sits so that their thighs are touching. His warmth and weight are familiar, a small comfort to Soonyoung’s blistering nerves.

“Let me,” Chan says, pausing to wet his lips, “give you something else to focus on. Just for a bit. To relieve some stress.”

Soonyoung furrows his brows, confused and uncertain. Chan’s adam’s apple works and he reaches forward to put a warm palm on Soonyoung’s thigh. The hand slides up, slowly, leaving fire in its path.

Soonyoung turns his head to meet Chan’s eyes. Up close, they’re big, and Chan’s eyebrows are heavy over them, determined, concentrated. Soonyoung sees a thought flit through his mind, a flicker of tension between his eyebrows and over his eyelashes, before Chan surges forward to kiss him.

It’s a little clumsy. It’s a little awkward. Soonyoung hears their teeth click beyond their lips. But Soonyoung is endeared, almost to the point of laughter.

Chan begins to massage Soonyoung’s inner thighs and Soonyoung squirms. It’s bold; it’s effective. He can feel his blood starting to move, already racing due to his earlier frustration.

This is definitely something else to focus on. But where did Chan get the idea?

When Soonyoung pulls back to breathe, he smiles at Chan and asks, “If you’ll indulge me for a sec—just curious—why this?”

It takes only a second for Chan to avert his eyes, bashful.

“Well—” Chan’s tongue stills against the back of his teeth for a second. “I don’t know. This kind of concept shows up a lot in movies and TV and stuff, so I thought, why not? Seemed like a smart idea.”

Soonyoung hums his understanding.

Chan stills the hand exploring Soonyoung’s thigh.

“I-If you don’t like it,” he says, “I understand. I just—”

Soonyoung smiles to himself, laughing inwardly, and turns his head so he can kiss Chan again.

It’s a good idea. Soonyoung just never thought he’d see it from a fellow member.

It makes sense. None of them can date, not with their hectic schedules, not when they’re entangled with their fans in their unique relationship; something casual between friends seems like the perfect way to blow some steam.

And, above all, Soonyoung really likes Chan. They have a unique relationship. So showing his affection like this seems… liberating, somehow.

Chan moans when Soonyoung swipes his tongue across Chan’s bottom lip. The sound goes straight to Soonyoung’s dick.

They touch each other freely, considering they’re in a common space. But they know the practice room like a second home. It’s too late for any of the other members to think about coming in.

Soonyoung feels safe.

Chan’s hand continues its climb up Soonyoung’s thigh, up and up until it hits Soonyoung’s waistband. Soonyoung sits back to give Chan better access.

When Chan’s hand touches his cock, relief and anticipation hit Soonyoung at the same time, lighting a fuse that slowly burns. 

To be doused in this flame is a completely unique feeling and Soonyoung already loves the taste and texture of it.

Chan’s fingers are slow on Soonyoung’s erection, careful, maybe a bit shy. The dry friction makes Soonyoung twitch.

“Umm,” Chan hums. It’s half a moan.

He shifts his weight on the couch so he can fish something out of his pocket with his free hand. He pulls out a tube of hand lotion.

Soonyoung almost laughs. He thinks he would if his face wasn’t too busy holding back bellowing moans.

The lotion is unscented, thankfully. The bottle makes a cute little sound when Chan squeezes it; Soonyoung feels his muscles twitch with mirth. He feels relaxed, though, even excited, watching his dongsaeng put so much effort into this.

It makes him feel special. What’s not to love about this?

Chan returns his newly slicked hand to Soonyoung’s cock and Soonyoung hisses behind his teeth. His thighs twitch against Chan’s arm, eliciting a tiny smile from Chan’s lips.

Chan’s hand works him steadily, carefully, thoroughly; the touch is very Chan. Maybe that affects Soonyoung more than he’s expecting. He can feel his orgasm building like a rope knotting through itself over and over in his belly, and his legs twitch again.

Having someone else touch him is much more intense than he’d ever imagined. Soonyoung feels heat lick him up and down, searing marks under his skin, and every strand of fire ties him to Chan. The act of being sewn together is all-encompassing: he feels the threads through each and every one of his nerves. Each poke of the needle is distinct. The sensation is sharp.

But it’s good. God is it good.

Chan tugs and tugs and tightens up the seams until Soonyoung is completely under his control, a puppet dancing before him. Soonyoung can only hope his performance is captivating, just as he feels mesmerized while under Chan’s touch.

Soonyoung comes and the ropes come undone against Chan’s waiting palm. Tension bursts his seams open. For a second, he feels at a loss, hurtling through a void, but Chan catches him, kissing him with those blunt, determined, clumsy lips.

Soonyoung gasps Chan’s name behind the barriers of their mouths and Chan holds him.

Sighing, deflating, Soonyoung is guided onto his back against the couch. Chan holds onto Soonyoung’s elbow with his free hand.

After a while, air pops in Soonyoung’s ears when Chan says, “Better now?”

Soonyoung lets himself laugh. “Yes, Channie,” he replies. A grin splits his face in two. “That… Thank you. Really. I had no idea that was what I needed, but that’s exactly what I needed.”

Chan beams up at him, full of shiny pride. Then, he pulls out a square of paper from his pocket. It’s a wet wipe.

“Wow,” Soonyoung says with another laugh. “You were really prepared for this.”

“Better safe than sorry,” is all Chan says, but he’s smiling, too.

Static buzzes through Soonyoung’s skull as his orgasm continues to flow through him. He watches Chan clean up, still so thorough even when dealing with the unpleasant aftermath, and he feels so immeasurably fond.

“You know,” Soonyoung says, “I think I should pay back the favour.”

A corner of Chan’s lip twitches. Unsure if a smile is appropriate or not.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, hyung,” Chan replies without looking up. “That was for you—you work so hard, you know? It’s not like I—”

“Hey, now,” Soonyoung interrupts him. Chan’s words taste sour on his tongue and speaking helps him to spit out the flavour. “We all work hard. Not on the same things, obviously; that would be kinda useless. So don’t say I do more or less than anyone.”

Chan doesn’t say anything. He folds the wet wipe and replaces it in its wrapper.

Soonyoung reaches out and catches Chan’s chin in his hand. The gesture comes naturally to him, like the trajectory of his hand was spoken to him at an earlier time and it’s now that he must execute the plan.

Handling Chan’s body seems right, and when Chan moves with him, offering no resistance, Soonyoung thinks it just might be.

Kissing Chan is more comfortable now. They’re starting to become familiar with each other’s shapes. Navigating each other’s boundaries with a clearer and clearer objective every time.

It takes a surge of courage for Soonyoung to discover that Chan likes to have his tongue sucked on. Chan’s shoulders roll forward, limp like he’s Soonyoung’s plaything; Soonyoung doesn’t miss the cue.

As Soonyoung sucks on Chan’s tongue and bites Chan’s lip, he feels Chan unraveling. Soonyoung grabs him and pulls and delights when Chan comes completely undone at his touch.

Without hesitation, Soonyoung goes for Chan’s cock and delights even further when he feels Chan at full hardness. There’s enough pre-come at the head that Soonyoung doesn’t have to ask to borrow the lotion, and only more pours forth as Soonyoung touches him.

“Hyung, hyung,” Chan whimpers, mewling like a cat, and Soonyoung takes great pleasure in hearing his adorable dongsaeng falling apart for him.

“I’ve got you,” Soonyoung replies, smiling to himself.

Maybe that’s a bit weird. Enjoying this to the degree that he is. But Chan seems to be having a good time, so maybe Soonyoung doesn’t need to think twice about it.

Soonyoung wraps his hand into a tight fist around Chan’s head and pumps him hard and fast. Sensation sparks through Chan, sending him jerking forward against Soonyoung’s side.

It’s okay, though. Soonyoung has him.

Soonyoung holds Chan and takes care of him, just as he always has, just as he always will.

When Chan comes, his face is buried in Soonyoung’s neck and his hands are claws in Soonyoung’s shoulders. Soonyoung bears it all with a smile. A second wave of relief washes over him as Chan comes down, and it’s no burden upon Soonyoung’s shoulders to lower Chan back to his feet.

Soonyoung presses a chaste kiss to Chan’s cheek. The gesture is an easy one, a familiar one that brings with it a feeling of routine.

Now that’s an idea. Doing this routinely.

Maybe he’ll bring it up after promotions.

Once he catches his breath, Chan lifts his head from Soonyoung’s shoulder. His face is scrunched up.

“I only brought one wipe,” Chan mutters.

Soonyoung laughs and laughs and laughs.

* * *

It doesn’t exactly become routine. Soonyoung forgets about the notion once promotions hit for real. There’s too much business happening: there are behind the scenes recordings, several music show performances, album repackage talks, overseas plans, dream concert prep, just to name a few.

They’re afforded a break when they get their first win. Things come to a standstill in that moment: for just a second, everything stops as an avalanche of thoughts crash over Soonyoung’s head.

At the core of it all, Soonyoung feels relief. Thank god. Thank fucking god that everything has paid off in a tangible way. He got to hold the trophy, feel its weight in his hands; he got to see the fans cheering in front of him, hear their cries from the stage. It was worth it. It was worth it, from those days surrounded by green walls, from those days waking up before dawn to get to school and back, from the first time he ever bleached his hair, from the days of streaming with Seungkwan to a handful of viewers online, from debut, up until now. It was worth it. They did it.

Second to relief is gratitude. Gratitude to their fans for bringing them the win, for spending their money, for taking the time out of their day to vote and stream and work for the money to buy their merchandise.

He feels gratitude to his parents, for the sheer principle of giving birth to him so that he could come to this point in his life. And he feels grateful for his members, his other family, for helping him grow as an artist, for being Seventeen and accepting him and his flawed self and his unpolished skills as a choreographer.

He feels grateful to all the people who put up with him. Guilt washes over him, too, mingling and staining the sea of gratitude on which he floats: he doesn’t deserve this. It’s not his call to make, but he knows, deep down, that there’s still so much to do, still so much to work on, still so much left in him, but he doesn’t know how to put it out there, not just yet.

But it’s only a moment of fear that people will realize he’s not worth it—for now, he lets himself go, gives it up for the cheers and smiles around him, lets go, just for now.

Arms embrace him and he can’t stop crying. He can’t. He’s a hurricane of emotion and the torrential downpour streaming down his face is the only way he can express himself without shattering into unrecognizable fragments.

Somehow, he makes it through the rest of the day. They do a vlive broadcast, and he just barely scrapes together some words to express his thoughts. They get food, the members and the staff. The hyungs get alcohol and Soonyoung nurses a beer throughout the entire occasion, wondering when the last thread keeping him together will finally unravel.

He feels frayed, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s just so much. He feels so sensitive. He fears for the thing that will snap the last thread.

But he also has confidence his members will catch him.

As the day goes on, he feels his seams mended by the hands of his caring members. While Seungcheol is in a state similar to Soonyoung’s, Jeonghan and Joshua lend him a strong, calm embrace. Wonwoo’s presence is always a familiar constant in his life. Seokmin is glued to his hip, and the warmth of his sunshine helps Soonyoung replenish his reserve of light.

The night has fallen by the time he has calmed enough that he doesn’t fear he’ll start crying by just thinking about the trophy. The practice room beckons to him, and his feet follow the familiar path to its door.

He puts on music and lets it consume him. Let this mend his fraying edges; let it glue everything back in place; let it patch together his torn seams.

His phone buzzes on the table, but he doesn’t look at it. If someone wants to look for him, they’ll call, or they’ll come looking here. This is his second home, after all. Or is it his third? Today, he’s forgotten about his life back in Namyangju; he is only Hoshi of Seventeen, an idol who works and performs in Seoul, the heart of South Korea.

Music flows through him, snags his loose threads and gathers them, pulling him every which way. His body cannot resist the pull; rather, it follows it, tries to predict its next move, but ultimately, his body is at the mercy of the music.

Soonyoung is pulled out of his ritual when the door opens and the body of the music shifts. Things fall out of place, but surprisingly, fortunately, Soonyoung stays intact.

Soonyoung breathes in. Breathes out. 

He smiles when he sees Chan poke his head into the doorway. Music continues to spill out of the room, trickling notes lost between the slots of his fingers, curious creatures left to explore the outside world.

“Hyung,” Chan calls. His voice is a new element in the room, but it’s a welcomed one.

Chan walks in and closes the door behind him. The atmosphere shifts again. An adaptive creature, a learning one.

Chan takes a few steps into the room. Notes dance around him, delighted, welcoming.

“I…” Chan starts. He swallows and comes closer. “Hi,” he says, trying again, “I was just wondering where you were, and since you weren’t answering your texts, I thought I’d check here.”

He smiles. Soonyoung immediately feels drawn to him like his threads are caught in the elastic corners of Chan’s mouth.

Soonyoung smiles back and walks around the currents of music flowing around his dongsaeng. He feels light and airy. He feels alive.

“Here I am,” Soonyoung replies.

He can feel Chan’s eyes following him.

“Are you feeling okay, hyung?” Chan asks. “Since you left without saying anything, I just…”

Soonyoung continues to move in circles around Chan. He walks and walks until Chan’s back is against the wall.

“I’m feeling good, Channie,” Soonyoung replies. He grins and he knows it’s crooked on his face like he just can’t yet control his muscles completely. “Better now that you’re here.”

Soonyoung takes Chan’s jaw in one hand and watches patiently as Chan’s expression changes under the light. Surprise, then, expectation. Tinder crackling under Soonyoung’s sparking touch.

His other hand lands on Chan’s shoulder. Light and gentle before pressure pins Chan flat and vertical.

Chan is expecting it when Soonyoung kisses him. He can tell by the way Chan inhales sharply, a crack of flint against steel, the way that Chan immediately warms to him, moulds to his body. Their chests are touching. Their hips are touching. Soon, their legs tangle together.

Soonyoung wants him and it’s a liberating feeling, acknowledging it, letting it breathe and take life. Soonyoung wants a lot of things. He wants recognition. He wants success. He wants the bend of flesh under his fingers. He wants stuttering breaths in his ears.

All of these things equal life to him—life is what is seen in people’s eyes, in their depths laid open by sheer necessity—and he wants to feel alive. He wants to cherish the moment. He wants to know that, despite his struggles and imperfection, he is still a creature who is allowed to feel pleasure. There is no fault in enjoying things that are given to him—let it be an award; let it be a friend who opens to him as easily as a flower blooming in the sunlight.

Soonyoung locks the door by Chan’s hand. If people want to talk, they can wait. Soonyoung wants and he wants to be allowed to want, even if just for the moment.

Chan looks down at the lock and then he looks up at Soonyoung’s face. Chan’s face is round, young and innocent, even when covered in Soonyoung’s shadows, but there are lines carved into them that speak of his experience. Soonyoung knows this face like the back of his hand some days; other days, he marvels at Chan’s growth and the new buds that sprout from within him.

This is a new way of learning Chan and Soonyoung is all too eager to start.

Soonyoung surges forward and Chan replies with a muffled groan. His hands find Soonyoung’s waist, then his hips, then his ass, and they pull Soonyoung closer still. Soonyoung can feel the shape of Chan’s pelvis against his own; he can feel the pulse of blood under Chan’s skin.

Chan is full of life and Soonyoung wants a taste of it, just to know what the flavour is like.

Soonyoung slips his hands under Chan’s shirt. Chan is soft under his clothes, patches of baby fat scattered between muscle, and it pleases Soonyoung’s senses as he explores Chan. Warm and soft, something to sink his teeth and fingers into, indulgent sweet bread.

Chan trembles and whimpers and hangs onto Soonyoung’s shoulders. He is pliant; he is responsive. The hardness against Soonyoung’s thigh says he is wanting. And Soonyoung loves that, Chan’s ability to want so passionately.

Oftentimes, Soonyoung’s ambition is reflected in Chan’s demeanour. It’s validating. It ties another of Soonyoung’s threads around Chan’s finger. They are inextricably intertwined now, Soonyoung thinks, and the sex probably doesn’t help it, either. But Soonyoung feels at home here.

It’s an ordeal to shed their clothes as they refuse to leave the space they’ve created together, here against the wall. Elbows bump the wall and their shoes skid against the floor. It’s awkward still when their pants end up bunched above their knees and their ankles. Soonyoung almost wants to laugh.

They’ve seen so many sides of each other, and here’s another one to add to their memories.

They don’t touch each other right away. Soonyoung wants to savour the unique flavour of skin to skin contact; he enjoys the way their bodies weave together. They clash in places where their height doesn’t align quite right, but they slot together just perfectly in other places.

Their erections touch and that’s another explosion of sparks in Soonyoung’s belly.

Soonyoung kisses Chan with urgency, but Chan holds him in place, fingers warm and thick against Soonyoung’s ribs. Chan tastes him, too, hums his appreciation. Chan takes advantage of his place against the wall, licking up into Soonyoung, ever the opportunist. Soonyoung loves that about him.

Soonyoung wants to take from Chan, wants him purely, but he’s happy to give, too, if Chan should want him. And he knows that Chan does.

A balancing act can be stressful but fun as well. A challenge is entertaining in its ability to occupy the mind.

Soonyoung is happy to occupy himself with Chan.

Soonyoung’s fingers explore the many planes of skin before him. Chan is a bit ticklish in his sides and is especially warm in the small of his back. There is a cluster of small, dark spots under his ribs and another where his right thigh meets his pelvis. 

Soonyoung pays special attention to the dip of Chan’s hips when Chan jerks, a flame coming to life. Chan tosses his head against the wall, holding back his noises with his teeth, and Soonyoung lowers his head to taste Chan’s neck.

That breaks the seal of Chan’s mouth and melodic moans fall from his lips. The sound joins the music still carrying on around them and together they weave a tapestry that wraps Soonyoung and Chan together so snugly.

“Channie,” Soonyoung says, “I want to see you come. Can you show me that?”

Chan looks up at him. His face is impossibly flushed, eyes and nose drowning in red, lips painted in a matching colour and swollen against his laboured breaths. While all these things are beautiful beyond comparison, what really pulls on Soonyoung’s heart strings is Chan’s eyes: black holes that draw in Soonyoung with their undeniable, inescapable gravity.

“Not yet,” Chan whispers. He smiles and it's a smug thing; Soonyoung is intrigued. 

Then, Chan begins to descend, dragging his hands down Soonyoung's sides, his hips, down to his thighs. Chan kneels in the pile of clothes they built together, roosting. 

“Chan,” Soonyoung calls after him, but it all happens in a moment. Soonyoung's heart hammers in his ears. “Chan-ah, are you sure?”

“I am, hyung,” Chan says, and a cheeky smile graces his lips when he adds, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” 

Chan wraps his hand around the base of Soonyoung's cock. Soonyoung watches him, in a trance, upper body braced against the wall. 

From here, Soonyoung can see the way Chan’s expression changes as he assesses the situation. Every flicker of Chan’s eyes, the slight tension in his brow, the way his mouth moves to accommodate his tongue. 

Chan opens his mouth wide and the corners of his mouth stretch with the motion. It's cute—and, frankly, flattering. 

“Fuck,” Soonyoung groans when Chan slides his mouth over the very tip of his erection. 

Soonyoung looks down and meets Chan’s eye. The world creaks on its axis as Soonyoung watches Chan’s eyes fix on him and Chan’s mouth fold around his cock. Like Chan wants to know Soonyoung is watching him. Always the performer.

Chan’s mouth slides forward precious centimetre by precious centimetre and Soonyoung can think of nothing but the way Chan’s face transforms to accommodate him. The way his cheeks twitch, the way his eyelids droop. The saliva starting to drip from the corner of his lip.

Chan’s tongue hits a sensitive spot and Soonyoung loses his ability to focus. Thank god Chan’s keeping his head on for the both of them.

Suddenly, everything melts into a pool of sensation and Soonyoung can’t help but buck forward. Distantly, he hears Chan choke, but the heat and wetness don’t leave him; the persistent pressure is dizzying, compounded by Chan’s brazen determination.

It’s for Soonyoung, all for Soonyoung, and Soonyoung wants it all.

Reaching and grabbing for everything Chan gives him is a monumental task. There is heat and obscene noise; Chan makes a mess of his hyung, doesn’t hold back, lays it bare for him. His face is red and his eyes are watering as he takes Soonyoung’s erratic thrusting.

They make eye contact one more time when Soonyoung comes. Chan shuts his eyes, finally, and tries to take it, but when he pulls back, spluttering, chin stained, Soonyoung can do nothing but stare, feeling his entire body enveloped in heat.

Soonyoung falls to his knees and joins Chan in the nest. He reaches for Chan’s face with both hands and starts to wipe at the mess.

“Hyung, I’m okay,” Chan murmurs, “I promise, I’m—”

Soonyoung shushes him. He wipes Chan’s cheeks with the back of his hand and his arm. Chan pouts and it’s adorable to see his come-stained face framed with such an innocent expression.

“You’re gonna kill me, you know?” Soonyoung says.

Chan smiles.

Soonyoung pulls Chan’s head down to kiss his forehead. Then, he brings Chan level so that he can kiss his lips, delighting when he can taste himself on Chan’s tongue.

Their following kisses are messy, breathy, open-mouthed affairs, and in the middle of it all, Soonyoung reaches for Chan’s erection. Chan immediately moans.

“You’ve really done your hyung a disservice here, Channie,” Soonyoung murmurs to him, ghosting his fingers over Chan’s sensitive spots, “taking care of me instead of the other way around. You’re my dongsaeng, Chan. Let me take care of you. I’ve got you.”

Chan is his to care for. But how can Soonyoung best the gift Chan’s given to him?

“Sit back for me,” Soonyoung tells him.

Immediately, Chan gets up off his knees so he can sit on his ass. Soonyoung settles on his stomach after him, balancing his weight between Chan’s thighs.

“Hyung, you don’t—” Chan starts, but Soonyoung interrupts him with a click of his tongue.

“I know that I don’t have to do anything,” Soonyoung replies, “but I also know what I want, and I want this, okay? Let me have this, Chan.”

Chan falls silent. That doesn’t last long, not when Soonyoung drags his mouth up the expanse of Chan’s thighs. He bites and kisses Chan, nips and soothes; maybe he delights a little too much in the effect of the contrasting sensations; maybe he enjoys controlling the tides a little too much.

But Chan is willing, always so pliant, so maybe it is as it should be. Chan’s place as Soonyoung’s dongsaeng, Chan’s place under him, writhing and hiccuping and so red in the face, is something that is just right.

Soonyoung plays with him a little. He presses his tongue in the seam of Chan’s thighs, at the crease of his hip. He tastes him leisurely.

Chan lets him. And it’s sweet. Just as sweet as he tastes.

When Soonyoung finally takes him, Chan makes the cutest, sweetest noise, and Soonyoung drinks it in greedily. He knows he’s messy, but Chan doesn’t complain; he drizzles Soonyoung in honey-sweet music until he comes, falls apart in a heap of loose ends that drape Soonyoung in warmth.

Soonyoung swallows every last drop and grins to himself like a champion standing over his quarry.

For a while, Soonyoung lies there and listens to the melody of Chan’s breathing and the harmony of the music surrounding them. The swell of life starts to calm and Soonyoung lets it lull his oversensitive body.

He crawls up Chan’s body and lays his head on Chan’s chest. Immediately, instinctively, Chan lifts a hand and cards his fingers through Soonyoung’s hair.

Soonyoung’s playlist eventually loops, but Soonyoung can’t be bothered to move. Not just yet. 

“Hyung,” Chan calls eventually. He shifts so that his chin rests atop Soonyoung’s head. “I think,” he says, “I’d like to practice that some more. When we have time for it.”

Soonyoung lifts an eyebrow even though he knows Chan can’t see him. “Yeah?” he replies.

“Yeah.”

Soonyoung chuckles and burrows closer into Chan’s warmth. “A perfectionist until the end, eh, kiddo?”

“Don’t call me that,” Chan whines. Soonyoung can hear the pout in his voice. “Not when you… you know. Probably still have the taste of me in your mouth.”

Soonyoung laughs louder this time. “I get your point,” he says, “but, Channie, you’re still my baby, no matter what.”

Chan grumbles, but apparently he’s decided not to argue.

No point in arguing the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

They get their chances to practice. Practice is a good word for it: they approach it with the same earnest effort they put into perfecting their performances. The nature of their sex life is not unlike a performance, perhaps; or maybe the nature of performance is inextricable from their personalities now.

Their Pacific Asia tour goes well. Promotions are busy, but they’re fun. Soonyoung feels like they’re making progress as a group despite minor setbacks—Wonwoo’s exclusion from Very Nice promotions, namely. But they get invited to award shows after, as well as year end shows, and Soonyoung is grateful for every opportunity they get to show off their progress.

Boom Boom earns them more wins and the taste of victory gets sweeter and sweeter still. Soonyoung has always been hungry—greedy, even—so it’s no surprise he develops a taste for wins.

They get three and that’s plenty. But next time, he swears, they’ll get more.

It’s still worth celebrating, though, Soonyoung knows this. But he’s not expecting Chan to put together something just for him.

[Chan]: hyung, you know that i love you, right?   
[Soonyoung]: of course i do   
[Chan]: i just want you to know that i think you’re working so hard these days   
[Chan]: you’re such a good leader, hyung   
[Soonyoung]: you’re making me blush, channie   
[Chan]: hehe that’s cute   
[Chan]: are you free tonight?   
[Soonyoung]: i don’t have anything planned after practice   
[Chan]: ok good   
[Chan]: i wanted to try something new   
[Chan]: i think you’ll like it   
[Soonyoung]: is there anything i need to prepare? anything i need to buy?   
[Chan]: LOL no no   
[Chan]: unless there’s something in particular you’d like to try as well as my thing   
[Soonyoung]: well if we’re talking about it…   
[Soonyoung]: actually nah. maybe i’ll save it for your birthday   
[Chan]: ooooh hyung now you’ve got me intrigued   
[Chan]: but it’s ok. i can be a good boy and wait 😇   
[Soonyoung]: you are certainly a very good boy, channie ❤️

Planning sex things in advance is something new for them, but Soonyoung is definitely willing to try it.

The dorm is not the best place for them to have sex. They discovered this the hard way once, when they had hands in each other’s pants, huddled against the wall on Chan’s bunk bed. At least it’s easy to fake sleep around each other; nonetheless, they decided from then on that it wasn’t enough to know the group’s schedule for the day since these things are often subject to change.

Planning ahead, therefore, isn’t something easily done. Sex plans always come after work plans. But exceptions are sometimes made for special occasions.

As the youngest member, as a minor, Chan doesn’t have much say when it comes to nightly arrangements. Even Soonyoung can’t do that. But he makes it work.

Each of the members have access passes to the company building and it’s become routine for all them to be there until the early morning hours. But the two of them have scoped out a conference room that has a faulty locking mechanism. All of the conference rooms are locked after a certain hour, so this wing is always empty this time at night, giving them a mostly secure place to squirrel away in, all things considered.

“Ooh, you brought pillows,” Soonyoung says upon entering.

There are pillows and there are blankets. Their softness contrasts the harsh light cast down from LED strips above. Also soft is Chan, sitting on the long conference table, a slightly sheepish smile on his cheeks.

“I figure it would be more comfortable than lying on the bare table,” he states.

“So you don’t want to sit on my lap?” Soonyoung asks. He takes a seat in one of the nearby rolling chairs. It’s comfy, broken in by men in suits, probably. “It’s roomy, I promise.”

“For the thing I had in mind,” Chan starts, quickly averting his eyes, “I thought it would be easier if I was lying down.”

“Oh?” Soonyoung rolls the chair over to the table so that he’s sitting by Chan’s legs. “Please, elaborate.”

Redness swallows Chan’s countenance. The sheepishness in his face grows and he tries to cover it with a grin; he wears innocence and excitement handsomely.

“I just—” he starts. He shakes his head and tries again, more confident now: “I want you to fuck my thighs.”

Soonyoung blinks. “Oh,” he says.

Chan lifts his eyes. The smile on his face fades, just a tiny bit.

“Um—” Chan coughs faintly. “I just don’t think I’m ready—”

Soonyoung rushes to put his palms on Chan’s knees. He shakes his head before he beams up at Chan.

“No, no, I’m very excited,” Soonyoung reassures him. “I just had to take a second to picture it—ahh. Now that is certainly an image.”

Soonyoung glides his hands up Chan’s thighs. He massages the muscle under his grip. He luxuriates in Chan’s physicality.

There’s something about the simplicity of enjoying Chan’s body that has Soonyoung consistently coming back to this room. And he’s glad that Chan has continued to let Soonyoung indulge in it.

Soonyoung looks up at Chan. Chan’s mouth is working, and eventually he settles on saying, “Hyung, do you think—am I—”

He swallows. He looks down.

“Never mind,” Chan mumbles. “Dumb question.” He looks up again and tries on a smile. It’s a bit crooked on its hinges, a bit weak and meek. “Let’s just get started, shall we?”

Soonyoung rises to his feet and uses both hands to pull in Chan for a kiss. It only takes a moment or two for Chan to warm up to him, to mould his lips against Soonyoung’s in that satisfyingly familiar way. They’ve learned each other’s shapes and the payoff has been huge.

“You know you can ask me anything, Chan,” Soonyoung tells him. He strokes the round, soft shape of Chan’s cheek.

Chan holds his gaze. His brow worries for a second, contemplating the weight of Soonyoung’s eyes on his.

“Do you—think I’m sexy?” Chan asks. His eyebrows come together before relaxing; the self-deprecating smile that blooms below drains the tension from above. “I know that we’re literally about to have sex, but—I don’t know. I still feel like—everyone still looks at me like I’m just a kid.”

Soonyoung laughs. Tension returns to Chan’s face, settling in the lines of his eyes, and Soonyoung tries to will it away with his thumb.

“Channie,” he says, “of course I think you’re sexy. I’m pretty sure I’m already hard just thinking about your thighs.”

Soonyoung drops a hand to take one of Chan’s. He guides it to the rise of his dick against the front of his pants.

Soonyoung’s eyes slip shut as he enjoys Chan’s touch.

He hums. “I guess I might not be the best person to ask, considering the position I’m in,” he continues, “both literally and figuratively. But, you know, I’ve always watched you. I know how you look out there, on stage. The way you hold yourself. It’s incredibly sexy.”

A corner of Chan’s lips quirks upwards. Chan’s hand cups Soonyoung’s growing erection, a casual, leisurely gesture.

“Your confidence is sexy. Your gaze gets really intense—” Soonyoung inhales sharply through his nose when Chan’s thumb hits a sensitive spot. “God. And your body. So powerful.”

Chan slides his hands under Soonyoung’s waistband, easy as can be. It’s distracting. But if Chan wants to scramble his thoughts rather than let him talk, that’s his choice.

“I could go on…” Soonyoung says, and his point wobbles when a moan clatters around his mouth. “But I could show you how sexy I think you are.”

“Mm.” Chan withdraws his hand and Soonyoung opens his eyes. On the other side, he finds Chan wearing a smirk and hooded eyes to match. “I think I’d like to hear what else you have to say.”

Soonyoung smiles to himself and chuckles. “Of course, Channie,” he murmurs.

Soonyoung’s hand chases after the one that left him cold. Soonyoung uses it to pin Chan to the table as he leans in to press his lips against Chan’s jaw.

“Your talent is sexy,” Soonyoung says. “No one can do what you can do. The way you say your rap in Boom Boom—I always feel it ringing within me afterwards. Your hands in those gloves, how you put your hands into fists—the way you never hold back.”

Soonyoung grazes his teeth over the edge of Chan’s jaw.

“You say ‘hit me’ and I kind of want you to,” Soonyoung continues low in his throat, telling a secret he’d not known was hidden in him.

Chan exhales and Soonyoung can feel the satisfaction in the shift of his ribs, the arousal on his breath.

“Everything about you hits hard, Chan. That power is incredibly sexy,” Soonyoung says. He presses his lips to Chan’s neck and feels the pulse of his blood under his skin.

Chan sighs and tilts his head back. Soonyoung opens his mouth and drinks him in, greedy and indulgent. 

“Thinking about you on stage—fuck,” Soonyoung groans when Chan’s other hand pulls in Soonyoung by his waistband. “See for yourself. It’s got me going.”

Chan wraps his fingers around Soonyoung’s erection and Soonyoung moans without an ounce of shame in the sound. Chan grins and licks his lips. Soonyoung thinks his moan must sit so snugly on Chan’s tongue.

Chan leans forward and turns his head towards Soonyoung’s cheek. Side by side like this, Soonyoung thinks of what kind of picture they must paint, two idols in the same group in such a suggestive position in their company building. 

Chan kisses him on the cheek. The sweet gesture does nothing to cool Soonyoung’s heated blood.

“Thank you, hyung,” Chan murmurs, “for indulging me.”

Chan pulls Soonyoung’s dick completely out of his pants. He yanks Soonyoung’s pants down as far as he can and Soonyoung laughs despite the fog of arousal quickly engulfing his senses.

They shed their clothes and dump them on the spacious conference table. For all that Chan has set up here, their belongings hardly take up a quarter of the surface.

Standing between Chan’s bare legs like this is a novelty Soonyoung doesn’t think he can fully appreciate in a minute’s time. 

“Hyung?” Chan asks on a hushed breath. 

Soonyoung’s eyes flit upwards to meet Chan’s gaze.

“I’m just taking it all in,” Soonyoung replies quietly. Like speaking any louder will break the moment and he’ll wake up in bed alone.

A shy smile rests on Chan’s lips as he leans back and balances his weight on his elbows. His eyes are expectant and blown so big. A sheen of sweat coats his dewy skin, and light reflects in his eyes, and Soonyoung thinks he is brilliant.

The body Soonyoung has come to know is constantly changing; now, compared to the last time they’d met here, Chan is leaner in places, firmer in others. His cheekbones are sharp angles that catch the eye and his shoulders have become such sturdy handholds.

Soonyoung wants to keep learning him every single day. He wants Chan like this, under his body, hips aligned with his own. He wants Chan’s reflection in the practice room mirror. He wants Chan by his side on stage, one of his now-numerous homes.

Soonyoung wants so much from Chan.

His heart and his cock throbs for Chan and it’s a strange sensation that tightens his chest regardless. 

Chan shifts his weight onto one arm and reaches for Soonyoung with the other. Soonyoung gives no resistance and lets himself be pulled down for a slow, burning kiss.

“Hyung,” Chan says again, lips brushing Soonyoung’s as he speaks, “please—I want you.”

Soonyoung’s heart beats against his chest with the force of a battering ram. Soonyoung takes a shaky, steadying breath and turns to kiss Chan once again.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Soonyoung replies. “I just—couldn’t help myself.”

When Soonyoung pulls back to position himself between Chan’s now-closed legs, he catches a soft look on Chan’s face. Fondness smudges Chan’s eyelids against his brow bone, darkening them, suggesting depth Soonyoung can’t decode at a glance.

Soonyoung’s heart continues to pound. Nothing breaks, thankfully. His seams stay strong, reinforced by routine, held taut by stubbornness.

Soonyoung holds Chan’s legs close to him, even if the table is readily available to brace their combined weight. Chan’s heated skin is braced against Soonyoung’s, bracketing him, and Soonyoung feels everything as he pushes his cock into the seam of Chan’s legs.

The friction of skin on skin made deliciously smooth by Chan’s newly acquired lube hits Soonyoung’s nerves in several places at once. His chest is punctured with sensation punctuated by Chan’s answering groans.

Soonyoung has known for a while now that Chan’s thighs are sensitive, but he had no idea of the harmonious pleasure that could come from this arrangement. Chan’s body was built for him.

He takes his time at first, feeling their limits, enjoying Chan’s reactions. Chan shifts his body fractionally with every thrust until Soonyoung finds a pressure that conjures stars behind his irises.

“Channie,” Soonyoung gasps, urgent, and Chan knows to wrap around him and hold him through his oncoming orgasm.

Soonyoung sighs and gasps and moans and feels Chan’s eyes on him the whole time. He manages to meet Chan’s gaze through the dizzying pleasure clouding his vision.

He says, “Channie, touch yourself for me.”

Chan’s bros furrow with pleasure as he complies without hesitation.

Soonyoung comes first and makes a mess of Chan’s thighs. Gasping for breath, he braces his weight against the table, and what he can’t catch falls onto Chan. Still he feels the weight of Chan’s gaze on him, and it spurs him on, inviting him to straighten up and wrench Chan’s legs open.

Chan has no breath left to speak, but he whines when Soonyoung bends and sinks his teeth into Chan’s thigh. Chan is covered in lube and come already, but Soonyoung wants him marked.

Soonyoung pushes Chan up the table and holds Chan’s knees up, nestling them against his hips, before he leans forward and takes Chan’s cock into his mouth as far as he can take it in one motion.

“Soonyoung!” Chan cries. It echoes through the room and vibrates over Soonyoung’s skin.

Soonyoung works him with impatient, messy strokes, just barely keeping his teeth behind his lips, and groans when Chan starts to tremble. He feels Chan’s orgasm quake Chan’s body and finally does the full wave of satisfaction wash over him.

Soonyoung pulls away. He wipes his face as best as he can with his bare hands. Chan watches him the whole time, silent.

Soonyoung huffs a tired breath. He pushes his hair out of his face and holds Chan’s gaze and grins at him.

“Fuck,” Chan mumbles. His lips barely move, but then he finds the energy to grin back.

Soonyoung pushes Chan higher onto the table, as far as the blankets will stretch, and clambers onto it so they can lie together. Immediately, Chan takes him into his arms, pulling Soonyoung’s head to his chest.

Nestled in Chan’s arms, Soonyoung listens to Chan’s heartbeat. He listens to Chan’s breathing gradually slow.

When a relative calm has settled over them, Soonyoung wiggles so that he’s lying higher on the table, eye-level with Chan now. He presses a smooch to Chan’s lips.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung tells him.

Chan smiles and lifts an eyebrow. “What for, hyung?” he asks.

“For this,” Soonyoung replies. He gestures with his head, limited as its movement may be. “The pillows, the blankets, the—you know. Brilliant idea.”

A blush rises to Chan’s cheeks as his smile grows into a grin.

“Well, I benefited from it, too,” he says. Chan isn’t that great at taking praise, sometimes. “But, yeah. Of course, hyung. Anything for you.”

“Don’t say that, Channie. Or else one day I’m really gonna take you up on it.”

Chan’s grin shifts on his face. “You say that like you can think of something I wouldn’t want to do,” he says.

Soonyoung lets out a disbelieving breath. “Damn, boy,” he says. “What have you got cooking up in there?”

Chan laughs. “Many, many things,” he says. “Hopefully we can find time to get to at least half of them.”

Soonyoung smooths Chan’s hair out of his face. Chan’s eyes flutter closed as Soonyoung repeats the motion.

“I’ll do my best to give you that, at least,” Soonyoung says lowly.

Chan hums. “You’re not at it alone, hyung,” he replies. “I’m sure we can work things out together.”

Chan cracks his eyes open. Light spills from his gaze and Soonyoung knows he’s looking into the face of a perfectly cut diamond.

“You’re right,” Soonyoung replies. He kisses Chan again and delights in the grin that meets his lips.

* * *

[Soonyoung]: chan-ah   
[Soonyoung]: i’m gonna try touching my butthole today   
[Chan]: ooooh   
[Soonyoung]: i’m gonna leave the bathroom door unlocked for the next five minutes if you’re interested in catching a show

Soonyoung doesn’t get a reply to the text. Instead, he hears faint footsteps approach the bathroom door from the outside. 

There’s a faint rap against the door. Soonyoung can hear Chan hesitating on the other side.

He can’t help himself when the door opens: he sticks his hands and feet in the air, precariously balanced on his ass on the edge of the bathtub.

“Ah!” Chan exclaims. He closes the door behind him in a rush, as if caught committing a crime.

Not so much a crime as it is just something that’s probably frowned upon. Well, once they actually get to business.

Soonyoung bursts into laughter, but he quickly covers his face with his hand.

“Hyung,” Chan sighs, and the weariness in his tone prolongs Soonyoung’s giggles.

Soonyoung settles his feet onto the floor. Then, he shifts his weight and brings one leg up to his chest.

Chan slides to the floor, his back to the door. “You’re really just gonna get to it, then?” he asks. His words as slow as if he is in a daze.

Soonyoung flashes a V-sign.

“Hell yeah,” he replies. “Just took a shit and a shower and I’m ready to go.”

Chan grimaces, but a grin eventually overtakes the expression.

“That looks a little uncomfortable,” Chan comments. “Maybe you should be on the floor, too.”

Soonyoung points a finger in Chan’s direction. “Good point,” he replies.

He settles his towel into a cushion for his ass and lower back. He settles against the tub and tries to angle his legs just right.

Chan shuffles forward on his knees. “Do you need help?”

Soonyoung smiles. His sweet boy.

“If you’d be so kind,” Soonyoung replies.

Chan handles him with care bordering on reverence. He holds Soonyoung by the back of his knees and looks at Soonyoung for further instructions.

Soonyoung catches Chan’s eye. He is struck with a powerful urge to kiss this boy, but his current position prevents him from following through.

“I read,” Soonyoung says slowly, “that it’d be best if I had my knees bent to my chest. Doesn’t matter if I’m on my back or my side.”

Together, they arrange Soonyoung into the optimal position.

“Can you pass me the lube, Channie?” Soonyoung asks. He points at the lube perched on the edge of the bathtub.

The bottle squeaks at him when he squeezes it.

Soonyoung has always known his ass is sensitive; the fact that their sexual activities have progressed to this point has him excited in ways he can’t describe. When he spreads himself open, he sighs as a shiver rolls through him.

Chan watches on silently; the weight of his gaze speaks loudly enough.

They both inhale sharply when Soonyoung slips a finger in. It doesn’t take long for a giggle to slip through Soonyoung’s lips, and then another, and then they’re both straining not to burst into bellowing laughter.

“God, this is definitely not sexy,” Soonyoung states once he’s caught his breath.

Chan flashes him a grin. “Well, I didn’t think the point of this was to be irresistible,” he replies, “especially not when we’re both sprawled out on the fucking bathroom floor.”

“You’re full of smart words today, hmm?”

Soonyoung wiggles his hips; it probably looks more like he has an itch than anything cute.

Chan shrugs. The motion shifts Soonyoung on his towel pile.

“Well,” Chan says, “I figured this was meant for research purposes. So—did you learn anything?”

“I learned that I can’t keep a boner with you mouthing me off like this.”

“I can always mouth you off a different way if boners are what you’re worried about.”

“I also learned that sticking shit up your ass definitely feels like taking a shit.”

Chan snorts. “I guess that anal isn’t for you,” he says. “Maybe it’s not up your alley?”

“Ha ha,” Soonyoung deadpans. “I’m gonna try it again and it’s gonna be great. Mark my words.”

“I mean, if it’s not, it’s okay,” Chan says, softly this time. “It’s not the end all be all of sex.”

Soonyoung smiles despite himself. Despite being folded up naked in the middle of the bathroom floor with lube all over his right hand and his asshole and no boner to boast.

“I know,” Soonyoung replies. “I just know it’s gonna work, though. With a little bit of patience and a  _ lot _ of lube.”

Chan hums. 

“Do you think…” he starts before trailing off. He lifts his eyes to look at Soonyoung. “Can I give it a try?”

Despite himself, Soonyoung blushes.

“I-If you want,” Soonyoung mumbles in reply.

The bottle of lube squeaking is Chan’s answer. Soonyoung’s eyes immediately dart to Chan’s fingers glistening under the light.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung gasps when Chan’s fingers come into contact with his skin. “That’s—fuck. That feels way different.”

Chan hums in concentration. He continues to tread lightly, one fingertip circling Soonyoung’s entrance.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Chan murmurs.

Time seems to slow as Soonyoung tries not to focus too hard on Chan’s touch. He keeps his breathing deep and tries to relax as much as he can. He’s rewarded for it when Chan enters him without much resistance.

“Keep going,” Soonyoung whispers.

Chan’s brow furrows as he nods. He slowly dips his finger farther and farther. His exploratory touch has Soonyoung’s blood pulsing feverishly under his skin.

“Oh, I think—” Chan starts.

“Ah, ah,” Soonyoung gasps at the same time. “Too much—”

Chan goes completely still. Soonyoung takes a deep, leveling breath. His heart is hammering in his chest and his dick has risen to lie against his thigh.

Soonyoung blinks, hard.

“That was—” Chan stops to swallow. “That was it, wasn’t it?”

Soonyoung nods. He takes another deep breath.

“Try, um,” Soonyoung starts saying. His mouth is incredibly dry. “Don’t touch it directly. Maybe just wiggle your finger around there?”

An incredulous smile stretches Chan’s mouth, but he complies nonetheless.

“Holy fuck,” Soonyoung groans. “Holy shit, fuck, Chan—”

It hits him all at once. Chan moves fractionally, but it makes a world of difference. If Soonyoung’s dick was completely uninterested before, it is certainly invested now, leaking on his thigh.

Soonyoung moans shamelessly and reaches down to touch himself.

“H-Hyung,” Chan chokes out. He shifts Soonyoung’s weight on the floor so he can replace Soonyoung’s hand with his own.

Chan strokes Soonyoung’s cock a lot faster than he strokes Soonyoung’s insides. Soonyoung can’t blame him for sticking with something familiar, but it leaves him wanting; Soonyoung moves his free hand to press under his balls, and the combined stimulation hits him like a pile of bricks over his head.

Chan lets go of Soonyoung’s dick so he can clamp his hand over Soonyoung’s mouth when he comes. Soonyoung is thankful; he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop the flow of noise if someone put a fucking gun to his head.

Once his erection calms down, Soonyoung collapses bonelessly onto the floor. Chan fusses after him, making sure he doesn’t bang his head on the bathtub.

“Okay,” Soonyoung says on a long exhale. “Definitely need to practice that more later.”

“Can I help?” Chan asks impishly, the words framed by a wide, square smile.

Soonyoung grins back at him and says, “I wouldn’t dream of trying without you.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Chan’s birthday rolls around, the boys are up to their necks in work. Even with the closing of Boom Boom promotions, they have their first fanmeeting and a trip to Japan in the works.

Still, no one’s asleep when the clock strikes midnight on February 11th. Soonyoung is close behind Hansol as he steps into the kitchen holding a cake decorated with candles and fondant flowers.

Sitting at the main dining table is Chan and his eyes are covered by Minghao’s hands. Chan fidgets in his seat, fingers resting gingerly on Minghao’s wrists.

“I can hear people coming in,” Chan whines. “Can’t I look now?”

“So impatient,” Minghao chides him. “You do know how many members we have, right? Let’s wait for them all to come in.”

Chan could very easily duck his head out of Minghao’s grasp, but Soonyoung knows he’s a good sport. A good boy.

It makes Soonyoung feel a little guilty about not buying Chan a gift, but he just hasn’t had the time to go out and buy something. The wealth of choices from online stores led him nowhere and between practices and team meetings, he didn’t have the time to go browsing.

He has a backup plan, however. And that’s better than nothing. Though maybe he’s being a bit unfair to himself, considering what his backup plan is. 

Offering his body is much better than offering nothing, in his opinion. It’s a great gift. In fact, when he decided he couldn’t climb the mountain of indecision that was online shopping, his brain immediately turned to birthday sex, and that probably says something about his character that he doesn’t want to overanalyze.

The room is filled to the brim with boys who gaze upon Chan like he’s their shining star. Soonyoung looks at the faces around the table and knows that he’s in the company of people who treat his boy exactly as he deserves.

Minghao finally drops his hands and Chan’s eyes flutter as they adjust to his surroundings. The lights have been dimmed and the candles cast harsh light over the planes of Chan’s face.

In that moment, it really hits Soonyoung how much Chan has grown. Although Chan still has some more growing up to do, his cheekbones have sharpened and carved away some of the remaining baby fat on his face. His eyes are dark, even in the candlelight, and flecked with his youthful innocence while holding in them now a depth that speaks of his experience.

Soonyoung knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that gaze in various forms. But he’s happy now to see it reflecting orange candlelight and the members’ smiling faces.

When they finish singing to him, Chan blows out the candles. Soonyoung wonders what he wished for.

Seungcheol carefully hands over a knife to Chan so that he can to begin cutting the cake, but before the knife can hit the icing, Junhui reaches over and scoops a piece of the cake into his fingers. Before Chan can move his lips to complain, Junhui slaps the cake onto his face.

The room erupts in laughter. Chan sputters as other members reach over and do the same as Junhui.

Hansol sighs and hangs back. “I bought the cake so we could eat it,” he mutters, but he’s grinning as he watches on.

Wonwoo and Junhui almost get carried away, but Seungkwan and Seungcheol hold them back. Chan wears a giggling mask of white icing and drooping, chipped fondant flowers.

“Alright, I’ll take care of the cutting,” Mingyu declares. He uses his long limbs to cut through the crowd and sweep them away from the temptation of further cake desecration.

“Thanks for the cake, guys,” Chan says once things have calmed with the silence that comes from busy mouths.

Seungcheol elbows Chan and says, “We bought a nice, white cream cake to represent the innocence and purity of our maknae.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Yeah, and we fucking destroyed it a minute after he blew out the candles,” he comments.

There’s a chorus of chuckles and giggles around the table.

Seungcheol sighs and says, “I suppose these things aren’t meant to last forever.”

“Kinda hard to preserve that kinda thing when you debut at seventeen,” Seungkwan points out.

Chan shrugs. “It’s true. But I don’t really mind, you know,” he says.

Soonyoung feels something loosen in his chest. Probably just a chunk of cake he didn’t chew properly.

The feeling rattles in Soonyoung's stomach when he looks up and sees Chan with his cheeks rounded with food, white cream smeared around his mouth, the flush of laughter just starting to fade from his cheeks. The loosening and tightening of his ribcage is a paradoxical feeling for sure, despite its similarity to breathing, and he thinks of his birthday gift for Chan and his confidence in its reception and he realizes now that maybe this is the first time he feels so sure about something—while at the same time it is tinged at the edges with charcoal. 

Maybe the cake can overpower the feeling and he can forget about it. Maybe Chan can share the sweetness in his mouth and Soonyoung can feel absolute certainty in place of this undecided strangeness. 

They finish up and they clean up. They bid each other goodnight and the words thrum with an undercurrent of excitement, bouncing under the weight of what awaits them tomorrow. 

Soonyoung hovers near Chan even once the group disperses. Chan keeps an eye on him as well, and the feeling is akin to holding each other's gazes in the practice room mirror, always aware of the space they occupy. 

They duck into a common room together, the one the farthest away from the bedrooms. Chan finds a seat on a couch and crosses his leg over his knee at the ankle. He has a regal air as he stares at Soonyoung from across the room; Soonyoung feels hyper-aware of the weight of his knee for the briefest of moments. 

“Funny how they got me a cake to celebrate my “innocent youth” or whatever,” Chan says. The smirk on his face is sharp at the edges, derisive within the boundaries of good humour. “While you had what planned for me, hyung?”

Soonyoung feels a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck. His hand remains on the doorknob, anchoring him. 

“I have a feeling you’ve already, uh, made an educated guess,” he replies. He's not sure why he's nervous. His nerves are buzzing and humming under his skin. 

Chan shrugs. “Maybe something like that,” he replies. His mouth softens. “I guess I just had a feeling. I’m glad I’m not wrong.” He tilts his head. “Right?”

A sheepish smile stretches Soonyoung's lips. Before he can reply, Chan continues with, “I think it's sweet of you to give me yourself for my birthday. A very unique gift, actually.”

Soonyoung blushes.

“I… It’s a bit cheap, I know,” Soonyoung says, “but—”

“No, no,” Chan interrupts him, “it’s special. Something only you can give me. It—” And here Chan falters for the first time since the door closed and sealed them into this separate realm. “It also makes me feel special.”

Chan lowers his foot onto the floor, opening for Soonyoung, and Soonyoung answers the silent call. He steps forward and his footsteps echo in his ears.  _ Clack. Clack. Clack. _

When he comes before Chan, Chan spreads his legs wider. Soonyoung steps up to stand between them.

“So you’re mine for tonight, then?” Chan asks. His mouth is sweet, dark syrup, and Soonyoung’s teeth ache, wanting. 

Soonyoung swallows the words Chan feeds him and tastes sugar; but there’s a bitter bite like lemon on cold steel, and Soonyoung isn’t expecting the aftertaste.

Then, Chan puts his hands on Soonyoung’s hips, and Soonyoung lets himself be drawn into Chan’s gravity.

“Yes, Channie,” Soonyoung breathes, “all yours.”

Chan kisses him and Soonyoung tastes the light, airy sweetness of the cake. He thinks of Chan’s innocence, thinks about Soonyoung’s possible influence on it. Chan’s taste has changed over time; how much did Soonyoung affect that?

Has someone else touched him like this? Kissed him like this? Left their mark on Chan, left a hint of their own unique flavour?

Soonyoung has once tasted himself on Chan’s tongue and felt satisfied. Now, he feels an emptiness begin to carve his stomach, and it feels deeper than hunger.

Chan pulls back. He lifts a hand to cup Soonyoung’s cheek.

“Is there something on your mind?” Chan asks softly, sweetly.

Soonyoung licks his lips. The sugar there is cloying.

“No, it’s…” Soonyoung trails off. Avoids Chan’s eyes. Puts distance despite their close proximity. “It’s your day,” Soonyoung says, looking up, smiling. “It’s nothing.”

Chan runs his thumb over Soonyoung’s cheek.

“You’ve put yourself in my care, Soonyoung,” Chan tells him. It feels so intimate to hear his name without the honorific; it leaves Soonyoung starkly bare. “Tell me.”

Soonyoung swallows. It does nothing to repair his defenses.

“I was just—” Soonyoung stops and tries to look away again, but Chan holds his chin in place. “It was a stupid thought. Wondering if you—I don’t know. If you’ve kissed anyone else besides me.”

Chan hums, a questioning noise. “Why? Is there something off about me tonight?” he asks.

Soonyoung laughs and it is helpless and it lacks a certain mirth.

“No, no,” Soonyoung tells him. “No, I just… I was just wondering.”

Chan hums again. He slides his fingers over Soonyoung’s jaw and down his neck. His fingers curl around the curve of Soonyoung’s throat, and were it any other circumstance, Soonyoung thinks his breathing may have struggled; instead, it eases in his chest, warming vapours.

“I haven’t,” Chan says firmly. His fingers curl into tighter half-moons. “Don’t think about it,” he continues, a murmur now. “Focus on me only. That’s my request for today, for my birthday.”

Soonyoung smiles and knows Chan’s touch against his throat is cotton-soft and undeniable.

“You know I could never say no to you,” Soonyoung tells him, and Chan kisses him again.

Chan slides both hands over the back of Soonyoung’s thighs and urges Soonyoung into his lap. Soonyoung goes easily; he knows now that he made the right decision to take this route.

Chan kisses him and takes his time pulling at Soonyoung’s seams. His is a delicate hand but sure nonetheless. It’s pleasurable to open up to him, to be opened in such a way, despite baring his edges.

“Chan,” Soonyoung sighs. Chan kisses the base of his throat, chasing the sound of his name.

“I’m here,” Chan tells him. “Let me take you.”

Soonyoung whines in response, canting his hips towards Chan’s. Chan undresses him and peels back his layers and sinks his teeth into Soonyoung’s soft parts. Under Chan’s touch, he is so sensitive; he is malleable and Chan hands guide him into ideality.

It’s not long before Soonyoung is completely bare on Chan’s lap. Chan has a hand on him when Soonyoung manages to say between stuttered breaths, “Ch-Chan, I—what about you? I’m gonna—”

Chan shushes him.

“Let me take care of you,” Chan replies. There are shadows behind the tender words and Soonyoung shivers in their shade.

Chan strokes him and slips a hand down to press his fingers against the receptive space behind Soonyoung’s balls. Soonyoung whines and bucks and Chan holds him through it.

“Chan, I—” Soonyoung pants, and just as his breath fades from his lips, Chan withdraws completely.

Desperation immediately washes over Soonyoung as he watches Chan slowly put distance between them. His chest tightens over his frantically beating heart and for a moment it feels like he forgets how to breathe.

“Chan—?” Soonyoung asks. Reaches out to him with his voice. Unsure of how else to breach the sudden rift between them.

Chan lifts a hand to stroke Soonyoung’s hair.

“You trust me, right?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung swallows and nods.

“Let me hear you,” Chan murmurs.

“Yes,” Soonyoung replies, voice hoarse, “I trust you.”

Chan hums and presses his lips into a pleased smile.

“There’s something I want from you,” Chan tells Soonyoung as he continues to draw his fingers over Soonyoung’s hair, “but I just want to make sure that it’s okay with you since we’re going to be performing tomorrow. I don’t want it to affect how you move on stage.”

Soonyoung feels his eyes widen. Then, he nods furiously.

“Yes, no, it’s fine,” he says a little too quickly. His desperation has already spread over his tongue. “I actually—I prepared for it, actually.” He smiles and feels a bit small as he explains, “That was gonna be the gift—you know, my ass.”

Chan laughs. His hand sweeps over Soonyoung’s neck and shoulder, a purely affectionate gesture.

“Then you brought lube?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung nods. He hops onto his feet and goes through his clothes on the floor for the appropriate items.

When he returns to the couch, Soonyoung finds Chan mostly naked. He watches Chan peel off his underwear last and admires the way his skin makes way for his moving muscle; it’s nice to see Soonyoung isn’t the only thing that bends to Chan’s will.

Chan moves to stand up straight when he finishes. He takes the lube from Soonyoung’s hand when it’s offered to him.

“If you could do the honours,” Soonyoung says.

“Of course,” Chan replies.

Soonyoung holds Chan’s gaze for a moment, unsure of his next move. Chan smiles at him, soft and slow and sweet, and leans forward to press a kiss to Soonyoung’s lips.

When Chan backs away, Soonyoung watches him descend back onto the soles of his feet from balancing on his toes. Sometimes Soonyoung forgets that Chan still has some growing up to do.

The gesture gives Soonyoung courage, though, and he goes over to the couch to settle on his knees. He wiggles his hips and looks over his shoulder at Chan with a grin.

“I leave myself in your capable hands,” Soonyoung says.

Chan grins back. “Happy birthday to me,” he replies.

There is care in the way that Chan handles Soonyoung. It almost feels like Soonyoung is the birthday boy, being shown so much attention. But the care and the heat at Soonyoung’s back is enough to let him know that Chan is engrossed, invested, and fully relishing in his gift.

“So, um,” Chan starts, and it’s endearing and a bit relieving to see evidence of some uncertainty tonight, “do you want me to do it like this? From behind?”

Soonyoung takes a steadying breath. His nerves are frayed and sparking and Chan’s currents are running through him at a dizzying speed.

“No,” Soonyoung murmurs. He turns and Chan takes him into his arms. Soonyoung presses his face into Chan’s neck and tries to catch his breath so he can speak. “On my back—please. Want to see you.”

Maybe it’s a bit much for him to be asking for anything considering he was the one who offered himself in the first place. But Chan simply nods and presses a kiss to Soonyoung’s cheek. It takes some maneuvering to get into an optimal position, and Chan ends up with one knee on the couch and one foot on the floor.

Chan presses the tip against Soonyoung’s entrance and looks over at him. Sweat has built over the furrow of Chan’s brow, and, under the shade of his hair and brow bone, his eyes drill intent holes into Soonyoung’s heart. It is striking, so much so that Soonyoung feels it clearly in the breath that expands his lungs and feels it echoing with every beat of his frantic, feverish heart.

Chan enters him and the feeling intensifies. Soonyoung’s wires and threads are linked to Chan as their bodies converge. He’s never felt closer to anyone in his life.

“Hyung,” Chan groans. His forehead is pressed against Soonyoung’s. Their earlier game falls to the wayside and now it’s just Soonyoung and Chan sharing this experience together, raw, bare edges overlapping, threads tangling together.

“Chan,” Soonyoung answers. His desperation never faded. He needs Chan to see this to the end.

They kiss and Soonyoung breathes Chan’s air and tastes his sweat. They move together, and Chan finally presses in to the hilt, and Soonyoung feels his vision swim as his eyelids flutter erratically.

“Is—” Chan starts, but his breathing is so affected it fractures his voice, leaving coarse glass shards. “Is this okay? The—the angle?”

Soonyoung nods. He tosses his head around, unsure what to do with his body besides beg without words.

“Good,” Soonyoung manages. “It’s good. Please—Chan—please,” he continues, emphasizing the last word because he has no other way of communicating his burning need.

Chan seems to pick up on it, albeit slowly, warily, and he pulls back. Every centimetre covered between them sparks; Soonyoung feels dangerous.

Chan builds a slow, careful rhythm; Soonyoung is thankful. He fears he might break otherwise.

“So much,” Soonyoung pants out.

Chan puts a hand on Soonyoung’s cheek.

“Do you want me to stop?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung shakes his head so hard the world’s orbit shifts for just a moment.

“Please, no,” Soonyoung whispers.

Soonyoung reaches up to cling to Chan’s shoulders. Chan presses him against the couch to keep Soonyoung’s knees in place against his chest.

“You’re doing so well,” Chan answers him. Answers a tiny voice crying out for Chan in Soonyoung’s chest. “I’m here. You’re so good, hyung.”

Soonyoung moans and shudders and Chan replies in kind. They build a back and forth and the current carries Soonyoung, waves against his back that keep him from sinking beyond salvation.

A hot and heavy weight pulls Soonyoung’s blood through his body when he feels Chan climb higher and higher towards his peak. Chan’s hips snap forward, greedy, and Soonyoung is eager to give Chan everything he can. Soonyoung hangs onto every groan that falls from Chan’s mouth and feels the sound lift him up and up.

Soonyoung is Chan’s for tonight, but Chan is tangled with him as well. Inextricable.

Soonyoung is beyond words at his point. As he gets closer to climax, he digs his fingers into Chan’s ribs and his voice cracks all the way through. Chan responds to him, keeps his pace, holds him close.

Chan’s name is a song on Soonyoung’s lips when he comes. 

“Hyung, hyung,” Chan whimpers, “me too, me too.”

Chan’s release is hot in him, and it stimulates his already sensitive nerves. Soonyoung shudders, groans lowly, whimpers, and Chan reaches out to cover him in kisses, to soften the fall.

With an airy breath, Chan collapses onto his back on the couch. He pulls Soonyoung down with him, and it’s a relief to stretch out his legs.

“Thank you, hyung,” Chan murmurs into Soonyoung’s hair.

Soonyoung lifts his head to reply, but Chan kisses him before words can form on his tongue. This kiss is different. Soonyoung can’t quite put his finger on it, and maybe his brain is still recovering, but his senses know. His senses, so finely in tune with Chan’s body, so intricately woven into Chan’s being, know.

Soonyoung pulls away. He brushes his fingers over Chan’s cheekbones and is pleased when the come back intact. Chan will always be soft under his touch, no matter how much he’s grown, no matter the changes life throws at them.

“Happy birthday,” Soonyoung says. “I hope you’re happy and healthy this year and every year to come.”

Chan smiles. “I know I will be,” he replies, “since I’ve got you to take care of me.”

Soonyoung laughs and Chan grins. They share a couple more kisses before they resign themselves to time and the pressing matters that creep closer with time’s forward progression.


	5. Chapter 5

Soonyoung has a problem.

His little arrangement with Chan is starting to grow vines around his heart, and the budding leaves have started to poke him in his soft places.

This may grow into a dangerous situation if he lets it go unchecked.

And since he’d like to keep his insides intact, he decides he needs to get everything figured out. He decides he needs a second opinion.

Soonyoung whisks Wonwoo to a cafe by the company building. It’s close enough that it’s not strange for them go together alone, but it does also run the risk that another member will see them. It’s a risk he’s willing to take.

“What’s this about?” Wonwoo asks as they burst through the door.

“Just order and I’ll tell you when we sit down,” Soonyoung replies. “It’s on me. Go nuts.”

He’s short; he’s nervous. But Wonwoo doesn’t question it and happily approaches the counter to place his order.

Soonyoung knows the coffee will just make his jitters worse, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

Soonyoung gets something with a straw because the weather’s getting warmer and he needs something to chew on. Wonwoo gets a drink the size of his head that Soonyoung knows he’s not gonna finish but was purchased just because.

“Ow, hot,” Wonwoo mutters to himself. Karma.

Soonyoung leads Wonwoo to a booth in the corner of the cafe. Wonwoo complains about the cup sleeve not being big enough and that’s all he has to say for the moment.

Wonwoo toys with the sleeve a bit more as Soonyoung sucks noisily through his straw.

“So,” Wonwoo starts, “care to explain what this is all about?”

Soonyoung pokes at the ice in his cup with the straw. “I’ve been having sex with Chan for the past year,” Soonyoung states without looking up.

“Ah.”

Soonyoung’s eyes flit up. Indignation flashes through him like lightning at Wonwoo’s calm countenance—a trait of his Soonyoung has coveted for as long as he’s known Wonwoo.

“That’s all you have to say?” Soonyoung hisses.

Wonwoo shrugs. It moves his shirt more than any part of his body.

“Well, you haven’t provided much information,” Wonwoo replies. “I mean, yes, that’s shocking, but I can’t exactly form an opinion when you haven’t told me all the details.”

Soonyoung blows air through his lips. He doesn’t understand Wonwoo at all sometimes. But maybe he should be glad that the shame he’s trying to project onto Wonwoo is being deflected by his cold logic.

“Should I start from the beginning, then?”

“Well, that depends, too: what exactly were you looking for when you asked me to come here with you?”

For a moment, Soonyoung is quiet. His thinking takes too much energy to even take a sip from his drink.

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung mutters. “Honesty?”

Wonwoo scoffs. “You know I’m not here to make your decisions for you,” he replies. “I’m also not here to be your moral compass or anything either.”

“I know that,” Soonyoung spits. Wonwoo grins at him.

“Then?” Wonwoo asks.

“I just need to talk it out, okay?”

Wonwoo hums. He takes a sip from his drink and recoils when he finds it too hot. That, at least, Soonyoung can appreciate for what it is.

“I’m listening,” Wonwoo tells him, like it’s some grand privilege. Soonyoung knows it is.

“It… It started around Mansae promos,” Soonyoung starts hesitantly. Wonwoo is a statue across from him in the booth. Soonyoung finds his throat suddenly dry, and he takes another noisy drink from his cup.

At least a statue doesn’t talk back.

“It was like—kind of an accidental thing, really,” Soonyoung continues. He feels his jaw stiffen, turn to the defensive, and his shame grows hundreds of little legs. It crawls up his chest, his throat, and it’s a horrible, queasy sensation.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, leaning forward. He puts a hand on top of Soonyoung’s wrist. “Listen. It’s fine. I’m not gonna, like, report you to the police or something. You can be honest with me. And I promise I’ll be honest with you, since that’s what you wanted.” His eyes are cold obsidian when they meet Soonyoung’s, but Soonyoung can feel the warmth of lava behind them. “Right?”

Soonyoung takes Wonwoo’s hand. An anchor. Wonwoo’s volcanic heat melts the steely defense of Soonyoung’s shame and he remembers what he really came here for.

“Right,” Soonyoung breathes.

“I guess,” Soonyoung continues, “despite our starting circumstances, we continued. Well, the first time was an accident, right, and maybe, now that I’m looking back at it, it was a little weird, but then he came to me again, and again, and now, I’m like… I don’t want anyone else to touch him, right?”

Wonwoo lifts an eyebrow. His thumb drifts over the top of Soonyoung’s fingers and knuckles.

“You’re not really taking much responsibility for this,” Wonwoo tells him.

Soonyoung makes a noise that’s between a groan and a sigh.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess it’s just hard to tell someone after all the time we’ve been keeping it a secret.”

“Why have you been keeping it secret for so long?” Wonwoo asks. A gentle prod.

Soonyoung looks away. Out the window. At passing patrons.

“I can’t speak for Chan, but,” he mutters, “I guess I was afraid. Of what you guys might think. Since, you know. We’re group mates. We’re coworkers. The nature of our jobs, you know, doesn’t mix too well with what we’re doing.”

Wonwoo snorts. “That’s reasonable,” he says, “but you know that our relationship as a group comes before our relationship as coworkers. Even if the two aren’t exactly separate. You guys are people before you’re idols.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Sometimes I forget about that,” he says quietly.

Wonwoo scoffs again. He squeezes Soonyoung’s hand none too gently.

“You shouldn’t,” Wonwoo tells him.

“Okay, mom, I’ll try harder,” Soonyoung grumbles. He’s grateful, but Wonwoo’s delivery certainly leaves something to be desired.

“Good boy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Soonyoung spits, and Wonwoo laughs.

“Plus, it’s like, you know,” Soonyoung continues, stumbling, but Wonwoo just holds Soonyoung’s hand through the whole thing, “we’re like… two dudes. So, you know.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. The statue has come to life.

“That was one of your main concerns?” Wonwoo asks.

“Yeah, it was!” Soonyoung replies hotly. “It’s kinda frowned upon by most of society!”

Wonwoo exhales, a loosening, and Soonyoung follows his example and tries to shake off some of his built tension.

“Okay, point taken,” Wonwoo acquiesces. “But, for the record, you know you shouldn’t have to worry about that when it comes to us.”

Soonyoung frowns. “You don’t know that for sure,” he says quietly.

“Fine,” Wonwoo says. “I guess you’re right. But let’s just say I have a good feeling about it, okay?”

“You’re smart, but you’re not all-knowing,” Soonyoung grumbles. “But, fine. Anyway, I don’t plan on telling everyone else until I decide what to do about him first.”

Wonwoo hums. “So, you guys have been fucking for a while,” he says, “and you’re saying that now you want to be more than just friends who fuck?”

Hearing it out loud makes Soonyoung blush.

“You’re such a romantic,” Wonwoo coos.

Soonyoung scowls at him. It’s true, but the way Wonwoo says it burns hot in Soonyoung’s gut, searing through him.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Soonyoung spits.

Wonwoo laughs. It’s good-natured, despite Soonyoung’s hostile energy.

“Nothing, nothing,” Wonwoo replies. “Easy, tiger. You gotta ease up a bit. I’m not here to judge you, remember?”

Soonyoung takes a deep breath. He takes another sip of his drink and scrunches his nose when he realizes it’s mostly water now.

“Gimme that,” Soonyoung mutters, swiping Wonwoo’s coffee from across the table.

“Hey,” Wonwoo calls, but there’s not any heat to it, “what happened to your generous altruism?”

Soonyoung opens the lid and starts to pour some coffee into his own cup. “You know that was just a ruse,” he replies.

“Ah, so you  _ can _ be clever every now and then.”

“God, why did I bring you here?”

“You know I’m smart, that’s why.”

“Yeah, you got a smart mouth. Don’t know much else you’re good for.”

“And now you’re trying to get away from the subject.”

Soonyoung groans and Wonwoo takes his drink back. Not that he drinks any more of it.

Soonyoung sucks on his straw for a bit longer.

“I’m gonna take a stress piss and then I promise I’ll stop wasting your time and get to the point,” Soonyoung declares, standing.

Wonwoo watches him move with a blank expression. “You know,” he says, “I’m in no rush to leave, Soonyoung. It’s okay. Take your time. I can tell you’re having a hard time with this; I’m not that cold-hearted, you know?”

Soonyoung’s hands linger on the table. Then, he pushes his hair back, frustrated, nervous energy.

“I know,” Soonyoung replies. “Sorry. I just—didn’t realize how fucked up this was making me.”

Wonwoo grins. “Isn’t that love?” he asks.

Soonyoung makes a noise of frustration and stalks off to the bathroom.

When he returns to the booth, there’s a basket of fried chicken sitting in the middle of the table.

“Care for a snack?” Wonwoo asks. He’s chewing as he speaks.

Soonyoung settles onto the bench heavily. Without saying a word, he reaches out and snags a piece with his bare fingers.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung tells him, and though it’s said with weariness, Soonyoung means it wholly.

They chew in silence for a while. 

“I think I like him,” Soonyoung says once he swallows.

Wonwoo snorts. “God, you really don’t want to commit, do you?” he asks.

Soonyoung puts his head in his hands. “Dude, I’m like, twenty-two. Why should I have to commit to anything?” he replies.

“You have a full-time job. Does that not count for something?”

“That’s my passion; it doesn’t count.”

“So you’re saying Chan isn’t your passion?”

Soonyoung tries not to choke on air. It’s better than choking on chicken, he supposes. 

“It’s not exactly comparable…” Soonyoung mumbles. 

He’s lost his appetite. He chews on his straw just for something to do.

Wonwoo chews and stares at him from across the table. Expectant.

Soonyoung sighs. “What did you say earlier? It’s not exactly separate?” Soonyoung looks down at his drink and wonders when it stopped tasting like anything at all. “Everything is too tangled to do anything without affecting anything else.”

“You should have thought about that before you started fucking him.”

Soonyoung rubs a hand over his face. “Clearly I’m not the type to think before doing anything.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “I’m glad you can admit it, at least,” he says. “Have you, I don’t know, tried talking to him? Two heads are better than one, right?”

“Well, that’s why I’m talking to you!”

“I really don’t think I can help you at this point.”

“Then why did I buy you an extra large coffee that you didn’t even drink?”

“Uh, because you love me and would do anything for me?”

Soonyoung puts his head on the table.

“I give up,” he mutters. “I just—I just want to keep doing what we’re doing and know that he wants to keep doing it with me and me only.”

Wonwoo pats the top of Soonyoung’s head.

“Sounds like you just need to talk to him about it,” Wonwoo says.

“But what if he says he doesn’t want to?”

“Then you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t talk to him.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then you’ll never know if he wants to be exclusive.”

Soonyoung groans and bangs his forehead on the table.

“Why hasn’t anyone invented telepathy yet?” he complains.

“Well, there’s no one saying it’s not invented yet and just hasn’t been distributed to the general masses,” Wonwoo answers him, “but also, how the fuck is telepathy different than talking to him? You’d still be trying to communicate the same thoughts, just without your actual mouth.”

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says miserably, “I’m stupid. Please don’t ask me too many questions at once.”

Wonwoo laughs. His laughter shakes the booth and it gives Soonyoung a tiny boost of sunshine.

“God, you’re a mess,” Wonwoo says once he’s caught his breath.

Soonyoung lifts his head, frowning, and feels his frown deepen when he finds Wonwoo chewing on another piece of chicken, looking at Soonyoung with both fondness and pity.

“If it’s really killing you that badly, then you know what you need to do,” Wonwoo says.

“Get him so addicted to my dick that he wouldn’t dream of turning me down?”

Wonwoo grimaces.

“Please,” Wonwoo says, “please don’t ever say anything like that in front of me ever again.”

Now it’s Soonyoung’s turn to laugh.

Wonwoo sighs. “I mean,” he says with some reluctance, “that is one way of putting that, yes. As long as you ask him out by the end of the day, it’s all the same, isn’t it?”

“So you’re saying you think I have a chance.”

“If he’s not addicted to your dick by now, then I think not,” Wonwoo replies flatly. “If you’ve really been fucking as long as you said. But, speaking in more realistic terms, then yes, I think you have a chance.”

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”

Wonwoo throws up his hands. “If you wanted me to give you a percentage of the likelihood of Lee Chan agreeing to date you, you could have asked me that right off the bat!” he exclaims.

“Well, when we first got here, I didn’t know that’s what I wanted.”

Wonwoo rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters.

“You got that right.”

Wonwoo sighs. “Soonyoung,” he says, suddenly serious, “you know he admires you a lot, right?”

Soonyoung nods, sitting up straight, bolted to his seat under Wonwoo’s piercing gaze.

“You can’t just go into this without being sure, okay?” he says. “If he reciprocates and you change your mind because you really can’t commit, he’d be heartbroken. And then I would have to kill you, and frankly, I don’t know if our fanbase could handle such a sudden change in our roster.”

Soonyoung isn’t sure if Wonwoo is joking or not. But he nods nonetheless.

“I-I know,” Soonyoung stutters. “I know. I’m not—this isn’t a joke to me. I really…”

Wonwoo stares him down. Soonyoung takes a deep breath and draws up his chest.

“I can’t imagine life without him,” Soonyoung says, and the words burn on their way out, the thought barbed and scorching at the tips. “I can’t imagine being Seventeen without him, for sure, but I can’t imagine not seeing him every day and not wanting… not wanting him.”

Wonwoo nods. He nods and leans back in his seat, mouth pressed into a line, brow clear of tension.

“Good,” Wonwoo replies. “That’s what I thought.”

“And I don’t mean that in just a sex way,” Soonyoung continues, delighting in the way Wonwoo grimaces in response, “but lemme tell you, the sex part is fucking amazing—”

“Okay, that’s where my patience ends and where you need to stop before I have to take action,” Wonwoo interrupts him.

Soonyoung grins with all his teeth.

“You know,” Soonyoung says, “I really doubt you’d be able to take me on in a fight.”

Wonwoo glares at him. It’s completely harmless from behind those huge glasses of his.

“Maybe not in a physical fight, no,” Wonwoo says, relenting. “But, I won’t need to fight you with my fists.”

Soonyoung’s face slackens.

“Wonwoo,” he says, “sometimes, you sound really fucking ominous.”

“Good.”

Soonyoung sighs. Despite the turbulent back and forth Soonyoung had with his own uncertainty, his chest feels considerably lighter. Which means that his stomach is also feeling much more spacious.

“Well,” Soonyoung says with a note of finality, “if you’re not gonna finish this chicken, then I will.”

“Help yourself,” Wonwoo replies. “Consider it payback for the coffee.”

Soonyoung is already bringing the basket over to his side of the table.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung says. He looks up and makes sure to meet Wonwoo’s gaze when he says it.

Wonwoo smiles at him. “Anytime,” he says.


	6. Chapter 6

After Caratland’s wild success, the group moves their focus onto their Japan shows. There, they receive much love, maybe more than Soonyoung had expected. They eat good food and Soonyoung puts on a tiny bit of weight, but it’s okay.

On their last night overseas, Chan puts a hand over Soonyoung’s stomach. They’re both covered in various bodily fluids, but Chan touches him freely. Soonyoung’s heart presses up against his ribcage; it’s only slightly uncomfortable.

“I kinda want…” Chan starts, and he trails off with a hum. “Takoyaki,” he decides. He looks up at Soonyoung and tilts his head. “Wanna grab a shower and come eat with me? I think I saw a food cart somewhere near the hotel.”

Soonyoung swallows.

“It’s late,” Soonyoung replies. “Do you think they’re still out there?”

Chan looks over his shoulder to gaze out the window. His brow dips, contemplative, as the city lights drift in through the glass and play across his skin. He is a mosaic of whites and blues and yellows, flecked with the occasional and flitting pink and green. He shines even in the inky nighttime.

“Hmm,” is all Chan says in reply. His hand on Soonyoung’s stomach begins to move idly, drawing patterns over his skin. “That’s a good point. But if that place isn’t open, maybe there’s somewhere else we can get food.”

Soonyoung laughs. “Hungry?” he asks.

Chan shrugs. “Just a bit peckish,” he replies. He turns his head to aim a grin at Soonyoung.

Soonyoung wonders, then, if Chan can feel the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Fucking you does work up quite an appetite, you know,” Chan adds. He stretches out from his position on his stomach, reaching out with his arms and legs, and he resembles a cat. All Soonyoung wants to do is pet his hair and hold him close.

“You’re very good at it,” Soonyoung says. His voice comes out a bit muted, maybe even dull; the thought is timid coming from his chest.

But Chan hears him and he beams. “Practice makes perfect,” he replies.

Chan rolls off his stomach and hops to his feet. He holds out a hand to Soonyoung.

“So,” he says, “what do you say?”

Soonyoung looks up at him, contemplates Chan’s hand, the bridge his arm builds between the two of them. He thinks of the two of them on the street alone together, sharing food, the dreamy cityscape at their backs. He can easily imagine the next five minutes on the condition that he agrees, where they share the wide spray of the hotel’s fancy shower head, laughing as they sculpt soap beards onto each other.

The moment passes. Chan looks at him expectantly, patiently.

Soonyoung takes his hand.

The group plans a trip to LA to shoot their next MV. Everyone’s excited about it, especially Joshua. There are plenty of sightseeing opportunities for them to fit into their itinerary, and Jihoon makes plans to meet some producers.

This is Soonyoung’s chance to visit the famed Millennium Dance Complex studio in LA. So many different celebrities have taken classes there, and now his name could be added to the list. The company provides the means for them to register for classes and Soonyoung can already feel his nerves buzzing with excitement.

It’ll be a good chance to seek inspiration in new places. New worlds can offer them new perspectives.

And maybe it’ll give Soonyoung the sign he’s been looking for. One that will tell him that he’s crazy for even considering a change in his relationship with Chan, or one that will simply open the door for him.

He just wants it to be effortless and clean. He knows it can’t be.

Chan and Soonyoung arrange their room assignments so that they’re together. They just can’t pass up on the opportunity to have all this alone time.

With a puff of breath, Chan collapses onto his bed face first. He squirms on the sheets like a dog imprinting its scent onto new territory before he rolls onto his back.

“God,” he breathes, “as much as I love everyone, it’s nice to have space, you know?”

Soonyoung hums in reply. He sets his stuff down and sits at the foot of his bed, observing Chan under the intense LA sunlight. Through the barrier of glass and curtains, it’s not so harsh; instead, it paints Chan’s body in brilliant hues. Soonyoung’s eye is drawn over the pinks and yellows in Chan’s skin, the rough blue denim over his thighs, the soft, white cotton weave of his shirt.

Chan inclines his head towards Soonyoung. “Tired, hyung?” he asks, voice lower this time around.

Soonyoung nods and falls onto his back. “A little,” he replies. “Long trip, you know?”

Chan makes a noise of agreement. Soonyoung doesn’t look at Chan when he rises, but Soonyoung listens to the shift of sheets and the pad of socks over carpet.

Chan’s voice is much closer when he asks, “Might I interest you in a backrub?” 

“You’re so generous to your hyung,” Soonyoung replies.

Chan’s face appears above him. The ceiling light is a halo behind his smiling face.

Soonyoung resists the urge to wind his arms around Chan’s neck and pull him down. Instead, he asks, “Don’t you need some rest too, Channie?”

The smile on Chan’s face slackens a bit.

“Mm,” he replies, “I dunno. It’s so bright out; I don’t think I could nap if I wanted to.”

Seeing Chan’s body in this warm, radiant light would be a privilege. Soonyoung sits up and takes Chan’s wrists. Chan follows the lines of Soonyoung’s arms to sit onto the mattress next to him. He makes it so easy and Soonyoung knows not how to say no to temptation.

“I can think of a few things that might tire you out,” Soonyoung murmurs, continuing to pull Chan closer, and he receives a grin for his efforts.

He receives more than just a grin. Chan kisses him, pressing a smile to Soonyoung’s mouth, and it doesn’t take long for them to shed their clothes and get sticky even while sheltered from the burning LA sun.

Twilight rays spill over the room when Soonyoung opens his eyes. The bed is empty; Soonyoung doesn’t need to look to know. 

Sharing hotel rooms has become a lonely experience over time, even though Chan is always just across the room when he wakes up.

But this time, Chan is missing from the room, not just Soonyoung’s bed. Soonyoung sits up, squinting against the golden light, and reaches for his phone, an instinct that easily overpowers his post-nap grogginess.

“Oh, hyung, you’re awake,” Chan says from the doorway.

Soonyoung looks up. Chan has a shoulder against the door and a paper bag in his arms. When he steps into the room, he is illuminated in patches by sunlight, stained glass in motion.

“Guess you really were tired, because you wouldn’t budge even when I told you dinner was being delivered to the hotel,” Chan continues. He sets the bag down on a table across the room. “I brought you some leftovers. Fried rice and some noodles.”

Chan wanders over to the mini fridge. There’s a display of bottled drinks next to it, one of those pay-as-you-go things.

“Want a drink, hyung?” Chan asks. He opens the display and Soonyoung almosts bolts out of bed.

“Hey, wait!” Soonyoung cries. “Those things are wildly expensive! It’s not worth it.”

Chan laughs and pulls out a bottle of cola.

“Hey, it’s on me,” Chan replies. He cracks the bottle open and it hisses. Soonyoung flinches.

Soonyoung sighs and flops onto his chest.

“You’re gonna give me grey hairs,” Soonyoung mutters into the sheets.

Soonyoung feels fingers against the back of his neck.

“That’s alright,” Chan says, and the fingers climb onto Soonyoung’s scalp, “you can just dye it all away. You might have grey hair again in the future, hyung. Life is a mystery.”

Soonyoung snorts. He reaches up and grabs Chan’s arm and pulls him onto the bed, laughing when Chan squawks in surprise.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” Soonyoung says, his words vibrating with mirth.

Chan laughs in return and fights to right his balance. He doesn’t reply verbally; he sets his weight on his knees and launches his body at Soonyoung instead of saying anything. It’s clear he has no goal but to pin Soonyoung down with the sheer force of his body weight.

They giggle and wrestle until Chan’s legs get caught in the sheets, affording Soonyoung an opportunity to get on top. Soonyoung pins Chan’s wrists over his head and he grins down at his quarry.

“You’re still a brat,” Soonyoung tells him, “and now you’re a brat on the bottom.”

Chan smiles and beams up at Soonyoung. Not exactly the picture of someone who’s been bested. A happy Chan makes for a happy Soonyoung regardless.

“You on top of me isn’t exactly a disciplinary measure,” Chan replies.

“Oh?” Soonyoung feels his grin widen. “You want to see what kind of disciplinary measures I can take?”

Chan all but bats his eyelashes at him.

“God, you’re a glutton for trouble,” Soonyoung mutters. There’s already a fire burning in the pit of his stomach.

Speaking of his stomach, he suddenly remembers the food Chan brought in.

“You’ve eaten already, right?” Soonyoung asks.

Chan lifts an eyebrow. “Uh, yes?” he replies. “Are you planning on withholding food from me as punishment?”

“No, no,” Soonyoung says. He sits up and releases Chan from his grip. “No, I just remembered I haven’t eaten yet.”

Chan starts to sit up, but Soonyoung sends him a sharp look. Chan stays on his elbows, eyes wide.

“And since my darling maknae went to the trouble of getting me food, I shouldn’t let it get cold, right?” Soonyoung continues.

Chan nods. “R-Right,” he says quietly in response.

His stutter brings a smile to Soonyoung’s face.

“So sit tight and wait until hyung is ready to take care of you,” Soonyoung says. He stands from the bed and heads towards the table; he feels Chan’s eyes on his back as he moves. 

Soonyoung takes a seat across the room and crosses a leg over his knee.

“You’ll be a good boy, right?” Soonyoung asks.

“Watching hyung eat makes me feel full,” is Chan’s obedient reply.

“Hmm,” Soonyoung says, a verbal smile. “That’s what I thought.”

Soonyoung takes his time opening the paper bag and then the cardboard boxes. The crinkling of paper and the snap of his chopsticks echo in the room. Everything is still; the sound moves freely. Soonyoung knows Chan is watching him.

As a performer, Soonyoung knows how to put on a show. And so he does. His mouth doesn’t stop moving until he’s had his fill, and he rounds his cheeks for good measure. But he doesn’t push it; he’s gonna need to be limber for the rest of the evening.

Soonyoung wipes his mouth and looks up. Chan’s eyes meet him from across the room, amber honey in the dying sunlight. Soonyoung’s path from the table to the bed is slow with his viscous footsteps. He knows he’s the one who’s caught in a sweet trap, but dammit if he’ll let it show.

Soonyoung approaches the bedside and lifts Chan’s jaw with both hands.

“You act like you want me to play with you one moment, and then you act all sweet the next,” Soonyoung says. He runs a thumb over Chan’s lips and recalls the saccharine taste of his mouth, the complex flavour of his tongue. “Are you indecisive? Or do you want everything?”

Chan smiles. He curves his mouth to fit against the pad of Soonyoung’s thumb.

“I think you know the answer to that one, hyung,” Chan replies.

Soonyoung hums and smiles as well.

“Greedy,” Soonyoung chides him. “And why should I give all that to you?”

“Why not?” Chan asks. “I’d give you anything in return.”

Soonyoung chuckles.

“So obliging,” he murmurs. He slips his thumb between Chan’s lips and feels fire at his throat when Chan sucks it in eagerly.

Chan’s eyes flutter closed as his tongue plays against Soonyoung’s thumb. The suction and the heat and the wetness tease Soonyoung’s senses; knowing what Soonyoung can do with his fingers and knowing that Chan would take them in his mouth only fuels the fire burning in his gut.

When Soonyoung pulls away, a little whimper follows him, soft from Chan’s lips. Soonyoung wants nothing but to kiss Chan and give him everything he can. But the long game is a fun one and well worth it.

Soonyoung clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“Look at you,” Soonyoung says, “so desperate for me. And you want what? You want to play rough? You want to feel me?”

Chan opens his eyes and looks at Soonyoung through his eyelashes.

“Yes, hyung,” Chan says. “I want to see what you can give me.”

Soonyoung feels his heart lurch. 

“You really do want everything,” Soonyoung says.

“Yes, hyung.”

Soonyoung can’t help himself: he kisses Chan, finally, and his heart beats wildly when Chan meets him with a similar force and fire. But he can’t let himself be distracted, not when there’s so much to do.

“Take off your clothes,” Soonyoung tells him.

Chan’s head bounces between his shoulders when he falls back and out of Soonyoung’s grasp. He complies quicky, easily, and throws his discarded clothes onto the other bed.

If Soonyoung had his way, that’s the only purpose that bed would serve.

Soonyoung watches him and admires the way his body moves under the ceiling light. His eyes follow the shadows dancing across Chan’s skin and he imagines his own fingers and lips tracing the same pathways.

Soon, soon. He needs to wait. This is a crucial time for him to finally practice some patience.

When Chan finishes, he turns to look at Soonyoung, his weight balanced on his knees.

Soonyoung takes a seat next to him and pats his lap.

“Hyung,” Chan says, hesitation set in his posture, “you’re not going to get undressed too?”

Soonyoung shakes his head.

“I don’t need to,” he replies.

A tremor flows through Chan’s body and his state of undress affords Soonyoung the opportunity to watch it roll through every inch of him.

“Now, don’t make me wait,” Soonyoung tells him.

The hesitation in Chan’s posture lingers but eventually dissipates. He crawls over to stretch out over Soonyoung’s lap like a cat.

Soonyoung is greedy and he is irresponsible and he is indulgent. He knows all this, and it’s stamped onto the back of his forehead as he lavishes his hands over Chan’s body, warms Chan to his touch. Chan hums and purrs, little noises of content, and happily laps up the attention.

When Soonyoung’s reach ends up at Chan’s ass, he slows down and takes his time. Chan steadies his weight on his forearms. Tension pulls Chan’s body taut and Soonyoung admires the lines of Chan’s body with his eyes, trailing them down before returning to his prize.

Now’s not the time to get distracted.

Chan’s ass is supple and Soonyoung enjoys the redness that blooms under his fingertips as they crawl over Chan’s body. His touch is exploratory at first and in no way gentle; he wouldn’t be surprised if bruises emerged afterwards. Chan’s skin has such a beautiful range of colour.

The first slap rings out clear as a bell. It is contrasted by Chan’s silence.

“Quiet now, hmm?” Soonyoung muses. “You’ve got such a good voice on you, Channie. Let me hear you.”

Soonyoung delivers the next slap and Chan only squirms. His breathing strains through his throat, but his jaw is tight.

If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it. Soonyoung strikes him three times in quick succession, staying within the same area, and he delights in the bright flush that rises over Chan’s skin.

Still, Chan remains quiet, inhaling sharply with each hit. On the final one, his knees tremble on the bed, and Soonyoung feels Chan’s interest press against his thigh.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says warningly, “you better answer me. I don’t like to be ignored.”

It’s a battle of patience, and while Soonyoung’s reserves are not so vast, he has stamina. Soonyoung works out a steady pace and refuses to relent. The sound shakes the room, so immense, but Soonyoung easily sweeps it aside as he listens for Chan’s reactions.

He whimpers around the fifth strike, and on the sixth he sniffles. His shoulders are tight and his back is a valley of tension. Still, he does not back down.

“Channie,” Soonyoung calls, “don’t make me wait. You don’t want to make me angry.”

Chan’s voice wobbles when it floats out of his throat, but his words are clear in the still quiet of the room: “Or else what?”

Soonyoung scoffs. “Do you want a taste of my belt, Chan?” he asks.

“I’d like to see you try it.”

His pride takes the brunt of the blow. Relying on an accessory to supplement his lack of strength seems excessive; if Chan won’t back down, why should he?

A growl tears through Soonyoung’s throat as he cracks down like a storm, a tumultuous hurricane. He doesn’t keep track of his blows; his only focus is Chan, Chan’s voice, a pearl hidden in Chan’s throat, and he can only listen.

Soonyoung’s chest heaves with effort when Chan finally breaks.

“Hyung,” Chan mewls, and it’s a tiny, pitiful sound. Soonyoung immediately stills.

Through his laboured breathing, Soonyoung asks, “Have you had enough?”

Chan sniffles again and nods.

“Get up,” Soonyoung tells him. “I want to see you.”

Chan pushes his weight onto his hands. The tension in his back and shoulders seems to be the only thing tying him together.

“You should have just listened to me,” Soonyoung sighs. He offers no assistance as Chan struggles onto his knees.

When he rises, Chan remains suspended there, shaking. His cock hangs hard between his legs.

Soonyoung clicks his tongue.

“God, look at you,” Soonyoung breathes. “You took all that. And you enjoyed it. You greedy little thing. You really made me work for that, you know?”

Chan doesn’t respond.

“Look at me,” Soonyoung says.

It takes some time, but Chan lifts his head. His face is enveloped in red, his eyes teary, his lips bitten and swollen. 

Soonyoung wastes no time in touching him, holding him. Chan melts at the warmth and his eyes fall closed.

“You did well,” Soonyoung murmurs. He peppers Chan’s face in kisses and stops only when Chan’s lips move.

“Thank you,” Chan whispers.

“You deserve acknowledgement,” Soonyoung tells him. His steely cover immediately collapses at Chan’s words, leaving his heart bare. “You did so well for me, Channie.”

Chan’s fingers catch at Soonyoung’s shoulders. He doesn’t lean on him and uses Soonyoung’s frame only for support. He tilts his head back, an invitation.

Soonyoung curls his fingers over the curve of Chan’s shoulder, right at the base of his neck.

“But I still want to hear you,” Soonyoung tells him. “Are you going to be a good boy now?”

Chan hums. Soonyoung presses his thumb against Chan’s throat.

“Answer me,” Soonyoung hisses.

Soonyoung squeezes and squeezes, increment by increment, until Chan gives in and says, “Yes, hyung.”

“Can you sit?” Soonyoung asks. “Or do you want to lie down?”

Chan chews on the question for a while. Then, he leans forward, pressing his cheek against Soonyoung’s, his lips at Soonyoung’s ear.

“I want you naked, hyung,” Chan tells him. “Please. I want to touch you.”

Soonyoung smirks. “I told you I wanted to hear you, but that doesn’t mean you get to ask me for anything,” he replies.

Chan outright whines. He paws at the front of Soonyoung’s shirt. His cock sits hot on Soonyoung’s thigh.

“Please,” is all Chan says.

“Answer me first,” Soonyoung tells him, “and then I’ll see how I feel.”

Chan sits back on his heels and winces as he does so.

“I don’t…” Chan starts. He chews on his lip again. “I’m okay here.” He puts his hands over his thighs to indicate his kneeling position.

Soonyoung hums.

“Can you get on the floor and kneel for me there?” Soonyoung asks him.

Chan shifts his weight and rises from the bed. Soonyoung tosses his shirt onto the other bed in the meantime.

Soonyoung stands before Chan and cups Chan’s jaw in one hand.

“You want to touch me?” Soonyoung asks him.

Chan nods.

“Then touch me.”

Chan gets to work quickly. He unzips Soonyoung’s pants and wastes no time in pulling out his cock. The speed at which he descends on Soonyoung is dizzying and so endearingly eager. Soonyoung tangles his fingers in Chan’s hair and pulls him close.

Now Chan is vocal. He whines around Soonyoung’s cock as it swells in his mouth and shows no shame in making a wet mess of himself. Spit dribbles down the side of his lips as he bobs his head back and forth. So hungry.

“Good boy,” Soonyoung coos, the sweet sound curving with a moan. “That’s it, now.”

Chan pulls back and traces his tongue over the crown of Soonyoung’s cock. The attention he pays to the shape of it is almost reverent. It is thorough; it has Chan written all over it.

“Okay, okay,” Soonyoung says. He swallows down a moan, but the tail-end of it slips out as Chan continues to suck and lick.

“Chan,” Soonyoung warns him. With a firm hand, he pulls Chan by the hair off his erection. They separate with an obscenely wet sound followed by a trail of spit that hangs between them.

“You have to be good,” Soonyoung says, tugging Chan upright with his fingers tangled in Chan’s hair.

Chan whines and tries to gesture with his head, but Soonyoung holds him in place.

“Are you listening?” Soonyoung asks. “I won’t let you come if you aren’t good.”

Chan’s response is a tremble in his jaw.

“Yes, hyung,” he whispers.

“Good boy.”

Soonyoung wrenches Chan to his feet. Chan staggers, but Soonyoung catches him with one hand around his waist and the other sitting at the base of his throat. Soonyoung crowds him, pushing him forward until his knees hit the bed.

“I’m gonna allow you one request, Channie,” Soonyoung states. “You get to tell me how you wanna come and I’ll see how I feel about it.”

Chan stares Soonyoung in the eye as he replies without hesitation, “In you.”

A smile somehow dominates Soonyoung’s expression. He’s endeared. He’s trapped.

“You wanna fuck me?” Soonyoung asks, tilting his head.

Chan nods.

“What makes you think I’ll let you?”

Chan’s simple response is, “You like it.”

Soonyoung chuckles. “Oh, so now you’re telling me what I like?” he asks.

Chan nods again.

“You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you,” Soonyoung says sweetly. He pinches Chan’s cheek. “I guess I can’t lie to your face. But, like I said, if you aren’t good, I won’t let you come.”

Chan returns the smile with a brightness that catches Soonyoung off guard: it starts small, shaded by lingering exhaustion from their earlier endeavours, but it quickly grows, flowering from his chest, and covers Soonyoung in buttery soft colour.

“Of course I’ll be good, hyung,” Chan tells him. He leans up on his toes and gives Soonyoung a quick peck on the lips.

The softness afforded to Soonyoung in that moment is caught in his threads and Soonyoung knows immediately that it will be tangled there for a long, long time. 

Soonyoung returns to the bed and pulls Chan down along with him. He pulls Chan closer by the back of his neck and Chan comes willingly, his eyes dark and heavy on Soonyoung, viscous molasses in Soonyoung’s throat. Soonyoung breathes through it, swallows around it, knows, somewhere, that maybe he is drowning in Chan, but he wants to stay here, suspended.

Soonyoung is aware of his state, but he wonders, too, if Chan has an inkling of suspicion at all.

As the thought crosses his mind, Soonyoung decides that he’s better off not knowing.

They kiss and Soonyoung lets Chan’s candy floss drape his senses. It is sweet indulgence and Soonyoung knows, he knows. He plows forward anyway.

“Bend me in half,” Soonyoung says, maybe a bit on a whim, mainly because he enjoys the displays of strength of which Chan is capable.

“And I thought you were supposed to be teaching me a lesson,” Chan replies, but he shifts his weight on his knees obediently.

“I am,” Soonyoung says. “You’re a very good student. I’m sure you’re aware of it.”

Chan hums and it presses his lips into a contented line framed by the elastic corners of his mouth. Chan can be very transparent at times—or maybe Soonyoung has simply learned how to read him after all this time.

“So what am I supposed to be learning by doing this?” Chan asks as he lifts one of Soonyoung’s legs over his shoulders. He makes it look so effortless; Soonyoung’s dick twitches against his stomach.

“It’s not a lesson if I have to explain it to you.”

“That sounds like bullshit.”

“Trust me,” Soonyoung insists. “I think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

Again, Chan smiles a small smile. He reaches over the side of the bed and fishes through Soonyoung’s bag, abandoned there early in the day, for some lube.

“Maybe,” Chan says vaguely. “Maybe this isn’t a lesson at all and it’s just, like, an unofficial confirmation of things that we like.”

Soonyoung hums. “See, that’s my smart boy. You got it after all.”

“And now you’re patronizing me?”

“Is that not the point of this?”

“I thought the point was to get off.”

“Why can’t we do both?”

Chan snorts in an attempt to hide his laughter. Soonyoung is trying hard not to laugh and is instead focusing on deep breathing to keep his muscles relaxed.

“I patronize you to get you off,” Soonyoung muses.

Chan rolls his eyes. “Let’s not simplify it so much,” he retorts.

“Okay, sorry,” Soonyoung replies. He’s still trying hard not to laugh.

“It’s no big deal.”

“I know, I know, but, like, I’m just trying not to get my ass too worked up. It’s got a big load to take.”

Chan laughs. “Don’t you ever think before you talk?” he asks.

“I personally think you’re talking too much. Just fuck me already.”

Chan looks up at Soonyoung with a serious expression. “Are you ready?” he asks. He always asks even when Soonyoung’s body speaks louder than any words Soonyoung could put together.

Soonyoung leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of Chan’s mouth.

“Yes, Channie, I’m ready,” he murmurs.

Chan’s eyes hold him steady, and the way that Chan’s face is framed by Soonyoung’s knees is already enough to get Soonyoung’s heart racing. Soonyoung lets himself fall. The first stroke always leaves him gasping, pleasure strung through his body taut and bracing and steel-sharp. It always leaves him so desperate to be pulled tighter and tighter until that point of breaking.

The angle has them entwined so closely. Every time Soonyoung opens his eyes, he finds Chan staring down at him. Against the bridge of Chan’s brow bone burns the smouldering hot coals of his eyes, draped in shadow that radiates warmth. Soonyoung craves that fiery intensity and relishes in it as the heat licks at his nerves.

“Chan, Chan,” Soonyoung babbles, clutching him close, craving more despite the overload of stimulation. This is his, this is theirs, nothing will ever compare. Soonyoung is selfish and he knows that he will hold onto this as long as he can. He’s got his teeth sunk into it despite his shallow breath and erratic moans.

Chan answers him with his steady voice, calling, “Hyung, hyung.” His lips cover Soonyoung’s mouth and his cheeks, sweet and soft, always so thorough in his touch.

“Harder,” Soonyoung pants. His digs his fingertips into Chan’s back. “More. Give it to me.”

Chan’s eyes flash above him, that familiar crack of flint against steel, and he obeys. 

Soonyoung, in the midst of it all, feels grateful. That Chan would give him this. That Chan wants this and puts so much of himself into this. Maybe Soonyoung’s heart is in his dick, or his ass, or maybe sex makes him sentimental, or maybe he’s just really got it that bad, but the urge to do something drastic like confess bubbles in Soonyoung’s throat, held back only by the incessant moans that burst from his mouth.

When Soonyoung comes, he can’t fall back on his habit of burying his face in Chan’s neck. Their position makes it impossible. He can feel Chan’s eyes on him, studying him, as he falls apart. It’s terribly vulnerable. But maybe it’s the least that Chan deserves after what he endured at Soonyoung’s whim.

And Chan just holds him through it, ever so sweet, ever so reliable, and Soonyoung could cry. His threads are stretched so tightly and Chan’s grip on him is white-knuckled and firm and it’s so much, but satisfaction curls in his gut, hot and viscous with a life of its own despite his turbulent heart.

“I’m here, hyung,” Chan tells him, and Soonyoung thinks of their first ever encounter, how he felt when he guided Chan to completion on that couch in the practice room.

Maybe, above everything, in the end, he’s got it real bad.

“Chan,” is all he can say, all he can allow himself to say, and Chan responds with his steady gaze.

Soonyoung kisses him and shudders through his orgasm. It rolls through him in waves. His nerves tingle with static electricity. Chan slows his movement, watching him, observant and protective all at once.

“Chan, please,” Soonyoung says against Chan’s mouth, “I want to feel—please, don’t stop.”

“Hyung.” Chan swallows and holds his tongue so he can press his forehead against Soonyoung’s. “Okay,” he says simply, and Soonyoung can feel the shape of a ‘thank you’ in the folds of Chan’s lips.

Chan resumes and electricity courses through Soonyoung’s veins. It sparks through him, a current controlled by Chan’s precise hand, and builds as Chan seeks his orgasm. 

Soonyoung wants to give it to him. He’d give Chan anything.

Chan comes and Soonyoung feels the pressure break, feels the heat fill him up. For a second, Soonyoung regrets putting his legs between their bodies when he starts to crave that post-orgasm closeness. The moment passes quickly, however, when Soonyoung turns his attention to Chan’s relaxing muscles and the way the lines in his face ease and his warmth blanketing Soonyoung’s body. Sweat drips down Chan’s face and come drips out of Soonyoung’s ass and everything is softly sticky-sweet.

There’s an ache in Soonyoung’s chest as Chan lowers Soonyoung’s legs from his shoulders with cotton-soft tenderness. Soonyoung sits up and takes Chan’s face into his hands.

“You did well, Channie,” he says immediately, quietly. Chan smiles and leans into his hyung’s touch.

Chan hums and nuzzles Soonyoung’s hand. “My butt hurts,” Chan says.

Soonyoung pulls Chan’s head forward so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll get a cold washcloth and hopefully that’ll help,” he tells Chan. “Lie down and I’ll take care of cleanup.”

For just a second, Chan hesitates and looks down at the mess they’ve made of the sheets. Soonyoung tugs Chan’s head upwards and smiles a bit when Chan pouts at him.

“I swear I’m not trying to baby you,” Soonyoung insists. “We might have gone a little overboard and I just want to make sure we don’t push it any more than we did, you know?”

“I’ll be fine,” Chan replies, his usually elastic mouth a bit stiff. “Besides, I could have told you to stop whenever I wanted to. I need to take responsibility, too.”

Soonyoung sighs.

“Okay, sure,” he says, “and I’d like to see you try to stand up properly after all that.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who just got rammed in the ass.”

“I’m well-versed in ass ramming, thanks. You’re still a spanking newbie.”

Chan’s pout deepens. Soonyoung tries not to laugh.

“I’m getting up,” Soonyoung declares, “and you’re not stopping me.”

Chan heaves an exaggerated sigh, but he doesn’t move when Soonyoung stands.

As water crashes against the porcelain sink basin, reality hits Soonyoung like the beginning of a storm. The reality that Chan touched Soonyoung the way he did in that bedroom, that he let Soonyoung touch him the way that he did, at the risk of compromising his body when their physical wellbeing is so important…

Soonyoung wrings out the washcloth. The cold water has numbed his fingertips. Chan’s ass isn’t going to wait all night for him.

He dampens another washcloth to take care of the mess between their legs before heading back out into the bedroom.

Chan is lying on his stomach, phone in hand, when Soonyoung returns. His head rises as Soonyoung’s footsteps approach the bedside.

“Hey,” Soonyoung says softly.

“Hey,” Chan calls back.

Soonyoung inhales. “This is gonna be cold, just a warning,” he says. He lays the cloth over the red splotches that linger on Chan’s skin and Chan lets out a long, low breath. A twinge of sympathetic pain echoes in Soonyoung’s chest, but it’s quickly replaced with possessive satisfaction that’s laced with an edge of shame.

They went a bit far tonight. Soonyoung needs to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Even if he can’t bring himself to regret having done it in the first place.

“Open your legs for me,” Soonyoung tells Chan.

“Oh?” Chan asks. He glances at Soonyoung over his shoulder, a small smile on his face. “Is this part two? I’m not sure if I have the energy for it, hyung, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Ha ha,” Soonyoung deadpans. “I’m gonna clean up your other parts, too.”

“So generous tonight.”

“This is what they call aftercare, Channie. I’m just trying to do right by you.”

For a second, Chan is quiet. “Thank you,” he says, and the moment passes. He puts down his phone and puts his head on his arms.

“Don’t spoil me, though,” he adds. “I might just get used to it.”

“Let me,” Soonyoung replies. “You’re my baby, you know.”

Chan squirms a little. Soonyoung hopes his ass is okay.

“I’m not…” Chan starts, but his voice trails off. “How can I be your baby when you let me fuck you senseless?”

Soonyoung laughs. “It’s the fact that you do it for me that makes me want to spoil you,” he says. “To me, it’s like—you’re doing this for me at this moment when we could be fucking in any other way. So, you know, I want to pay it back.”

“There’s nothing you need to pay back, hyung,” Chan says. He’s lifted his head now, but their positions prevent direct eye contact. “I’m sure I enjoy it just as much as you.”

“It’s not something we can quantify, now is it?”

“If that’s true, then how can you deem that I need to be paid back?”

“It’s not a necessity,” Soonyoung says. He finishes wiping between Chan’s thighs and moves to join him on the bed. Chan glances over at him, brow furrowed.

“I just want to,” Soonyoung says simply. “Spoiling you is—let’s say it’s a hyung’s joy.”

Chan scoffs. “You’re barely three years older than me,” he argues.

“Can’t I enjoy the little things?” Soonyoung asks. He reaches over to brush some hair out of Chan’s face. “Let me enjoy doing things for you and you can enjoy the things I do for you.”

Chan purses his lips. “Then,” he starts, the word heavy on his tongue, “you need to let me do things for you, too. This needs to be fair.”

“I won’t refuse anything you want to give me, Channie,” Soonyoung replies. “I’m not stubborn, unlike some people I know.”

“I’m just trying to make things easier for you,” Chan sighs.

“It’d be easier if I didn’t have to dance around the things I want to do, you know,” Soonyoung tells him.

Chan frowns. He sighs again. “I suppose you have a point,” he replies.

Soonyoung leans over and plants a kiss to the top of Chan’s head.

“Just give in,” Soonyoung says.

“Don’t put it that way, please.”

“Just let go. Let hyung take care of you.”

Chan whines. “I can take care of myself,” he insists.

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Soonyoung replies. “I’m just saying that I would like to do it for you when I have the chance.” 

Grumbling, Chan puts his head back on his arms. “It’s frustrating when you’re right,” he mumbles.

Soonyoung laughs. “You’re lucky it doesn’t happen often. Now,” he says, “do you think you can roll over? Let me clean up your stomach.”

Chan tests the waters by wiggling his legs. Nodding to himself, he deems it comfortable enough to move.

Soonyoung takes his time wiping what he can reach. Chan dictates updates from Seventeen’s group chat, and they discuss plans for tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

The LA trip wraps up on a good note. Soonyoung is happy with the visuals of the upcoming music video; that urban aesthetic has a coolness they have yet to capture on camera. He’s excited for their various teasers to drop. He hopes that Carats will have fun trying to piece things together.

Their showcase comes and goes with great success. Soonyoung knows that he will never tire of seeing the fans gathered before him, a great sea of lights and glittery chromatic banners. It’s love as it exists between idol and fan; it’s also love between them and the music. Love for performing. Love for the stage and the suit he puts on, both literally and figuratively, for the show.

They’re planning for a world tour. It seems ambitious; the thought makes Soonyoung’s heart soar. They will have their opportunity to share this love with so many more people. So many different loves from so many different individuals who bring so many different things to the table. Overwhelming, on one hand. But Soonyoung has always known his greed and he’ll take the consequences of overeating so long as he gets to have it all.

The choreography for Don’t Wanna Cry is tough. With music show promotions looming on the horizon, the group persists and perseveres with their practice. They’re aiming for perfection, that characteristic Seventeen synchronicity, and they won’t settle for less if they can help it.

“Hey, chingu-ya,” Wonwoo calls as he approaches from one side of the practice room. He seems awfully bright for nearly two a.m. Soonyoung will blame it on the fact that Wonwoo gains energy from others’ suffering, and the thirteen of them are certainly making an effort to stay on their feet.

“Hey yourself,” Soonyoung calls back. It’s not his best response, but he also knows that anything he could possibly say to Wonwoo will eventually be one-upped.

“You have any plans for your birthday?” he asks.

Soonyoung narrows his eyes at Wonwoo. “This seems sinister, somehow,” he says.

Wonwoo puts up his hands in a disarming gesture. “I promise I only have good intentions. Comeback is soon and no matter what happens while we’re promoting, I promise it’s gonna be something to look forward to, not dread,” he replies.

Soonyoung holds Wonwoo’s stare. After a moment or two passes, Soonyoung sighs, shoulders deflating with the breath. He steps toward Wonwoo and they both come to a stop hardly an arm’s length from each other.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says. “Sorry. I’m just kinda stressed out. I didn’t—I swear, it was just a joke.”

Wonwoo barks a short laugh. He claps a hand to Soonyoung’s back and Soonyoung stumbles with the contact.

“No, I know,” Wonwoo replies. He’s wearing a wolfish grin and Soonyoung starts to think his earlier apprehension was appropriate after all. “God, you should have seen your face. You really thought you hurt my feelings?”

Soonyoung grits his teeth. “No, how could I possibly affect a fucking statue,” he deadpans.

Wonwoo laughs again. It lights up his face and animates his mouth and eyes so brightly that Soonyoung feels the irony of his comment immediately.

“I was being serious, though,” Wonwoo says. “Want, like, a bag of chips?”

Soonyoung sighs. He wanders over to a nearby table and hears Wonwoo’s footsteps trailing behind him; he collapses into a chair and looks up at Wonwoo, head in hand.

“Are you actually asking me seriously or are you just fucking with me?” Soonyoung asks. He’s not in the mood for jokes if they’re at his own expense.

Wonwoo leans down and pats Soonyoung’s hand. “No, I’m genuinely curious,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with any other plans you might have had planned for the day.”

Again, Soonyoung sighs. “Will you please just get to the point?” he asks, even though the words come out with a hint of dread.

Wonwoo fidgets with his fingers. It’s highly uncharacteristic of him.

“I guess,” he says, “I just wanted to know how things were going—with Chan. And since your birthday is coming up, I figured…”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. The beginnings of a flush stir in his cheeks and ears, but god does he try to fight it.

“What the fuck,” he says.

Wonwoo hesitates again. “Is that not an appropriate assumption to make?” he asks. The genuine curiosity and consideration in the cadence of his words makes Soonyoung’s chest hurt. “Like, even if you guys aren’t an official romantic thing, I would think that, um, favours could—”

“Okay, stop, please stop,” Soonyoung groans. “God, Jesus Christ.”

Silence quickly stacks between them like a wall Soonyoung wished existed in real life.

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung blurts out. Wonwoo startles like an animal in the wild. “I don’t know, okay? If Chan has any plans—then he hasn’t told me anything about it.”

A slow smile comes across Wonwoo’s face, handsomely fox-like. “Maybe he’s planning on surprising you with something,” he suggests.

The blush comes full force. Soonyoung rubs a hand over his face and lets his fingers hover over his cheeks.

“I haven’t even thought about it,” Soonyoung mutters. “I mean, we’ll still have a booked schedule when it comes around, so I doubt anyone has anything planned, right?”

Wonwoo cuffs Soonyoung’s shoulder lightly.

“Of course we’ll be doing something,” he says, and the vagueness of the statement sends a rush of excitement through Soonyoung’s stomach.

“Don’t spoil anything,” Soonyoung replies quickly, grinning.

“That’s your specialty, remember?”

“Ha ha,” Soonyoung deadpans.

“God, look at you,” Wonwoo says. “You’re blushing like some kid. Remember when you were all like ‘man, I’m twenty-two, I don’t have any business being in love or whatever the fuck’?”

“I’m not in love,” Soonyoung hisses. It’s practically a whisper between his teeth, a sentiment barely caged in by his stiff jaw, as if saying it louder would be admitting a truth from which he needs to protect himself.

“Right.”

Soonyoung snaps his head up to glare at Wonwoo and asks, “What the fuck would you know about love, anyway?”

Wonwoo snorts. “You’re right,” he replies, and the statement comes out too smoothly for it to be an admission of any kind. “I suppose I would know less than you, wouldn’t I?”

“God, how do you have the ability to turn around everything I say to use it against me?” Soonyoung groans, putting his face in his hands.

“Now that’s  _ my _ specialty, Soonyoung.”

Another moment of silence passes. Soonyoung feels the weight of it, but it does nothing to defend him from whatever is brewing in Wonwoo’s head. Maybe Soonyoung is still waiting for a sign to let him know that he should finally just make a move.

Or maybe he should just wait until his birthday and see what happens.

“Do you want him to do something for you?” Wonwoo asks. It feels like a door opening.

“Maybe,” Soonyoung says, and something about his delivery brings a smile to Wonwoo’s face. The blush lingers in Soonyoung’s cheeks. “I mean, isn’t it nice to get something on your birthday?” Soonyoung asks.

“You’re thinking of something in particular, then,” Wonwoo says.

“No,” Soonyoung says too quickly. He swallows. “No. I’m not. But, um, I guess, if he didn’t at least, like, gimme a kiss or something, I would be a little disappointed.”

“Listen, I’m proud of you for withholding the vulgar details,” Wonwoo says, waving a dismissive hand. “I know it must be killing you to keep it all to yourself.”

Soonyoung hesitates. Sighing, he replies, “Fuck, you have no idea, dude.”

Soonyoung buries his chin in his hand. Wonwoo casts his gaze around the room.

“You guys haven’t…” Wonwoo starts. He trails off, contemplative. When he speaks again, he turns his eyes back to Soonyoung. “It’s not obvious, you know. That you guys have a special kind of relationship.”

Soonyoung hums. “That’s good,” he says against his fingers. “Not that I asked, but good to know.”

“You might not have asked with your mouth, but I heard you.”

“You’re really some kind of omniscient being, huh?”

“I try.” Wonwoo flashes him a grin, pearly and a bit dangerous. Sometimes Wonwoo’s brain is a bit too sharp, and his accumulated knowledge of Soonyoung’s life over their long friendship seems precarious.

“I’m sure if it was obvious, someone besides me would have had a talk with you by now,” Wonwoo says. It’s gentle, somehow, despite the fact that his words are always carved in some way by his sharp teeth.

Soonyoung hums his agreement. “Like, I know you’re right,” he starts, the words fidgeting in his throat before escaping, “but I still—I don’t know. I worry, sometimes.”

“Glad to see your rational brain is still working.”

“Would it kill you to let me live for like, at least a minute?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo says immediately. “I have to meet a daily quota. Otherwise, I would just fall dead. How would you explain yourself to the group? To Carats?”

“God, you are so full of shit.”

“Makes for a healthy diet.”

Soonyoung tries not to pull his hair out.

“Listen,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung braces himself for the possible cutting truth that may come forth, “you still have time. There’s no rush to act, besides to deal with your own impatience.”

For a moment, Soonyoung is quiet. “God,” he mutters, “have you met that daily quota yet?”

Wonwoo laughs and it’s surprisingly good-natured, considering Soonyoung’s tone.

“You’ll have to deal with me a while longer,” Wonwoo tells him. He claps a hand to Soonyoung’s shoulder and this time, Soonyoung is expecting it. 

“Come on,” Wonwoo says. “Let’s get back to it. Help me with the timing of that hand shit.”

Soonyoung gets to his feet easily. He’s tethered to the room, to the moment, by Wonwoo’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Of course,” Soonyoung says, thankful for the diversion.

Don’t Wanna Cry is very well received. Soonyoung nearly loses his mind as they rack up the wins day by day. He could also blame that on the lack of sleep and the constant stream of work and travel.

He and Chan sit together on the bus one day. Chan’s head is nestled against the crook of Soonyoung’s neck and Chan sniffles every now and then. The seats jostle and yet Chan remains peaceful; Soonyoung wants this for Chan at all times, rest and closeness and shared space. Maybe he wants it for himself, too.

At the fansign, Chan comes over to him and presents his waist.

“Does my shirt look okay?” he asks.

Soonyoung brushes his open palms against the flat expanse of Chan’s back. He smooths down Chan’s slightly damp shirt and adjusts the tuck of it against his waistband. If Soonyoung’s thumb lingers in the layers of fabric, no one says anything.

Afterwards, Chan beams up at him and thanks him and then he’s off to make sure his makeup is in place.

“They grow up fast, huh?” Seungcheol comments from beside Soonyoung. “First you’re helping them with their stage costumes and next thing you know, you’re telling everyone to stream their first solo album.”

“You sound really old when you say that,” Soonyoung says. Maybe he’s deflecting.

Seungcheol sniffs. “I  _ am _ old,” he replies. Then, he smacks a hand against Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Not that you should be saying anything about it, my dear dongsaeng.”

Soonyoung sighs. “Yes, sir,” he deadpans.

Seungcheol slings an arm around Soonyoung’s neck. The weight there rests heavy and strong and secure against Soonyoung’s spine; it commands respect without Seungcheol having to say a word. Perhaps that’s just the energy Seungcheol has tried so hard to hone over the years.

“I guess I’ll give you some slack,” Seungcheol says, “since your birthday’s coming up. Technically speaking, you’re hardly a year younger than me, huh?”

“That’s how the math works out, I think.”

Seungcheol starts to swing him around a little, a display of strength driven by nervous energy. He tends to be like this any time they’re about to go on stage; Soonyoung understands. And maybe he enjoys being held like this, so he’s got no objections.

“I’m expecting piles of presents from Carats when the day arrives.” Seungcheol gestures with his free hand and Soonyoung has some mind to marvel at how big Seungcheol can make himself appear. “We’re lucky guys, aren’t we?”

Soonyoung smiles.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung replies.

Then, a makeup artist comes by to check on them, and she fusses at Seungcheol for almost wiping off half of Soonyoung’s face with his sleeve. The touchup that follows is quick and Seungcheol’s sheepish laughter acts as background music as Soonyoung sits at his chair.

Some fans give Soonyoung early gifts, explaining that this is their only chance to do so. Soonyoung takes pictures with crowns and he smiles and he holds fans’ hands. As countless faces pass in front of him, Soonyoung takes a part of them, be it the cleanly shaven curve of a smile or the chime of a shy giggle or the glint of sparkly acrylic nails, and tucks it away in his heart.

With every day that he lives as an idol, Soonyoung finds himself expanding his heart, stretching pockets that already exist and punching out new ones. He has to cherish each and every moment full of love—if he doesn’t, then he wonders what the point would be. To receive love and toss it away? That seems too cruel.

There’s a sore spot in there, in the chamber of his heart hidden away by the lines of his ribs, but Soonyoung will stand strong despite the pricks of hurt that tingle over his nerves when he finds himself missing his bed partner in the middle of the night. It’s just sore from overuse. But muscle must be torn before it can grow anew.

The day of his birth comes. Well, it starts at night, with Soonyoung alone in the practice room, back against the mirror and Going Seventeen camera in hand. Maybe it’s a bit unfair of him to record this, to capture evidence, but it’s his birthday and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants.

Soonyoung checks his phone. Midnight on the dot. No new notifications. 

Jihoon passes by, floating through the room like a ghost, head bowed in prayer to the shrine of technology in his hand.

“Hey,” Soonyoung calls, a short snap of his jaw. He hopes the cutting edge of his voice will catch the spectre’s attention.

Jihoon mumbles something and doesn’t look up.

In that moment, it’s clear that Soonyoung’s life is falling apart at the seams. It's in shambles. It's a disaster. 

Soon, he's horizontal on the floor with only the camera as his companion. 

“I’ve been abandoned,” he whines. He wonders if the depth of his melancholy will be caught on camera, if such an emotion can be clearly represented electronically. 

He rolls around on the floor and looks up at the ceiling. LED strips cover him in white light. He feels starkly alone. 

Minutes pass. Silence encases him in cold despite the sticky summer air that hangs over him. He babbles to the camera under his breath to keep icicles from forming on his skin.

Once more, he rolls over onto his side. He stares into the small camera screen that presents a small version of himself. The tiny pixels that blink back at him are an accurate depiction of how he feels, he thinks. 

Eventually, his patience runs thin. If his friends won't come to him, then he'll go to his friends. 

“I waited in the dance practice room,” Soonyoung says to the camera. “I made it easy for them. Of course they’re throwing me a party. But they should have greeted me first.”

He stalks through the stairwell and his footsteps clatter against the concrete walls, buffeting him from all sides, immersing him in solitary noise.

Once he sees an occupied room, he throws the door open. Sitting at a computer desk is Chan.

“Hey,” Soonyoung says. 

Chan doesn’t look up from his phone.

From his silence, his inaction, sprouts long, tall thorns and the landscape suddenly becomes treacherous. Soonyoung has tried his hardest not to build expectations for Chan, but it happened anyway, and now the path between them has become overgrown with brush that Soonyoung has no hope of navigating.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Soonyoung asks. The words are not strong enough to bridge the rift between them in this closet of a room.

The hum of the AC and the computers buzzes over Soonyoung’s skin.

“I love you,” Chan says. He doesn’t look up.

Immediately, the words are lost as they fall flat into the wilds at their feet. Soonyoung hears nothing.

Scowling, Soonyoung turns to leave the room in a huff.

“I love you so much,” Chan says again, but Soonyoung still doesn’t hear him.

Soonyoung wanders the building until he runs into Mingyu. At this point, Soonyoung isn’t sure what kind of expression he’s making; he’s given up caring about how he looks and he hasn’t looked into the camera to check.

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, but Mingyu comes forward and wraps him in an embrace.

“Hey,” Soonyoung says. It comes out weak, a trickle of sound that barely brushes past his lips.

Mingyu pats Soonyoung’s back.

“Happy birthday,” Mingyu says, and the words have that special Mingyu sheepishness, the kind that’s brightly apologetic, sincere, and a bit self-deprecating.

“Where is everyone?” Soonyoung asks.

Mingyu only holds him.

“Mingyu,” Soonyoung says, his name shaped like a blade against Mingyu’s throat, a warning.

“They’re—” Mingyu starts, but he cuts himself off. Normally, he can put up a better front than this, but Soonyoung’s succinct threat must have truly affected him. “Somewhere around here, I’m sure,” he continues. “You know the guys. Always working ‘til late.”

Soonyoung sighs. The flimsy excuse pokes a hole in Soonyoung’s stony defense and now everything is starting to collapse. He leans his weight against Mingyu’s sturdy chest and Mingyu holds him.

“Bullshit,” Soonyoung mumbles. “Mingyu, you’re full of shit.”

Eventually, Mingyu folds. Soonyoung thanks his lucky stars that he found one of the weaker ones first.

“They’re downstairs preparing,” Mingyu mutters. “In one of the other practice rooms. Food and stuff. You know.”

Soonyoung pulls away from Mingyu’s chest and tries to catch Mingyu's eye. Soonyoung has the height advantage and Mingyu is unable to avoid Sooyoung's gaze for long.

“We were trying to make it a surprise,” Mingyu sighs. He moves the knot of his hands down to Soonyoung’s waist and wiggles him in his grasp. “But it was taking longer than anticipated, so…”

Relief washes over Soonyoung, gathering over his head gradually before crashing down upon him in a rush.

“So you guys didn’t forget,” Soonyoung says, just to make sure. 

“Of course not! Who do you think we are?”

Soonyoung shifts his weight and he has the advantage yet again when he goes in for Mingyu’s hair. Squawking, Mingyu is at Soonyoung’s mercy, and when he emerges from Soonyoung’s grasp he is a bird with different feathers. 

Soonyoung grins with all his teeth. 

“I’m ready for a party, then,” he declares. 

The group is due at a music show in the morning, so the party is a reserved affair. Dinner and music and sentimental company. 

“I really don’t know what we’d do without you,” comes Seungcheol’s emotional line, mouth coloured with sincerity. Soonyoung’s heart clenches at the sight and sound of him.

“Could we still be Seventeen without our reliable Performance Leader?” Minghao asks from his position nestled against Soonyoung’s side. 

“Of course not,” Soonyoung replies, and he’s greeted with laughter.

They try not to eat too much and promise a bigger event after the music show. They have to get to work in a few hours and more chicken will make their faces puffy. 

Before Soonyoung retires to bed for his nap, Chan catches him at the bathroom. He crowds Soonyoung against the door.

Soonyoung feels vines crawl over his chest, defensive, but over his heart remains a gaping hole. Always room for his maknae. Always hopeful.

“I have something special planned for you later,” Chan tells him, clandestine despite the privacy afforded to them by the enclosed space.

Soonyoung scoffs before he can stop himself. Chan doesn’t flinch away, however.

“Didn’t seem like you had anything planned when I saw you earlier,” Soonyoung grumbles. “If the hyungs hadn’t mentioned anything, would you have remembered at all?”

“Hyung,” Chan calls to him, his lips against the side of Soonyoung’s jaw, “you know that was just for the surprise thing. Which wasn’t exactly a success, thanks to a certain someone.”

“Mingyu?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Chan, I never  _ play _ dumb. I just am.”

Chan rolls his eyes.

“Anyway,” Chan plows on, and Soonyoung has to commend him for that, “after dinner tomorrow—meet me at our usual place. I think what I have planned will make you feel better about earlier.”

Soonyoung hums and chews on the statement. It tastes promising. He knows he’s biased, but he’s caught by its allure anyway. 

“Okay,” Soonyoung says. “I trust you.”

Chan pulls away, smiling. The curve of his mouth touches Soonyoung’s heart, and although it’s gentle, Soonyoung can feel the impression of his lips linger in the well of his chest.

“Thank you,” Chan replies. “You’ll be in my care.”

Chan slips out of the room and is immediately replaced by Junhui. The atmosphere fractures when water hits the bathroom sink and it breaks completely when Junhui taps Soonyoung’s shoulder and asks him about the toothpaste.

Soonyoung will hold onto his hope as he goes to bed, no matter how sharp it may be in his hands.

Full of meat and warm with the summer sun, Soonyoung is in good spirits when he returns to the company building. He received a couple of questions about the state of his full stomach on the way, but most people know not to try to drag Soonyoung away from the practice room during promotions.

The ride up is quiet; the elevator car is warm and the air in it is thick and still, unaffected by the AC running outside. Soonyoung’s skin prickles with heat and sweat. With every beep, every floor, Soonyoung’s heart jumps in his chest.

The doors roll open and Soonyoung steps out. He lingers in the corridor, smiling to himself, content to contemplate the wide world of possibility before him.

What could Chan be planning for them? They’ve been busy with promotions. If he’s spent this whole time putting something together…

Soonyoung should know better than to get his hopes up. But he’s never been a smart man.

He enters their usual place and finds Chan waiting for him inside, sitting on the long conference table, swinging his legs, hands planted between his thighs. In a big tshirt with the neck stretched out and a worn pair of sweatpants, Chan looks young, but the patience in the weight of his stance, the straight line of his back, adds depth and complexity to his portrait.

When the door clicks shut behind him, Soonyoung feels the air shift. The AC comes to a stuttering stop and silence emerges forth. It slithers over Soonyoung’s skin, welcoming him, narrowing the atmosphere to the space between him and Chan.

“Hi, hyung,” Chan greets him. He lifts a hand and gives a little wave.

“Hi, Channie,” Soonyoung replies, taking no effort to mask honey-sweetness that makes his lips sticky.

The distance between them shrinks in moments when Soonyoung comes forward, yet he distinctly feels each and every step he takes—the sound of his shoes against the floor; the view of the table skewed as his perspective shifts.

He plants his palms onto Chan’s knees and leans up into Chan’s space, the web of his branches, the cleansing air of his proximity that strips Soonyoung of his immediate concerns. It’s just him and Chan now. And he can relish in it.

“I have something for you,” Chan says. He’s leaning into Soonyoung’s space as well. Soonyoung feels their threads tangle. 

Chan reaches behind his back and slides something across the table towards Soonyoung. It’s a brown box with a shiny ribbon taped onto the lid.

“You shouldn’t have,” Soonyoung says, the words on his lips split wide by a smile. “Especially since I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

Chan shrugs. “I picked it up while we were overseas, in America,” he says. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

“Aw, Chan—oh fuck.”

In the box lie two objects side by side: one is a bundle of rope and the other is still in sealed plastic. The packaging is covered in English, but the distinct shape of the gift is clearly visible.

Chan laughs and kicks his legs up and down.

“So you know what it is?” Chan asks, an impish grin on his face.

“W-Well—” Soonyoung pauses to swallow. “I feel like I should be asking you that!” he cries. He wants to shoot Chan a heated glare, but he can’t take his eyes off the box.

“Hyung, there’s wifi in the dorm. I’ve done my research. Good to know you have, as well.”

“Well…” Soonyoung mumbles.

“Speechless. That’s cute, hyung.”

Fire burns in Soonyoung’s cheeks and he’s not sure how he’s feeling. Aside from hot molten lava churning in his guts.

Chan pinches Soonyoung’s cheek for good measure. Soonyoung hopes flame lingers on his fingers.

“Well,” Soonyoung starts, and he’s very aware that he’s said that word too many times, “I guess—I guess my question is, who’s gonna wear it?”

Finally, Soonyoung looks up and catches Chan’s eye. The glint of his obsidian gaze is enough to cut into Soonyoung’s nerves, but all it does is fan the flames licking at Soonyoung’s throat.

“I had some ideas,” Chan tells him, “but since it’s your birthday, I figured I’d let you choose.”

A pause.

“Now I’m curious,” Soonyoung says slowly, “about what you had in mind.”

Chan hums. He lifts a hand. Drags his fingertips over Soonyoung’s jaw. Goosebumps erupt over Soonyoung’s shoulders.

“I was thinking,” Chan starts, “that I could have you on your knees while you wear it. And your hands would be behind your back—something like what you put on me back for your Boys Be solo. Remember? For the concert?”

“How could I forget,” Soonyoung murmurs. It’s supposed to be deadpan, comedic, but it comes out a little choked up.

“I guess this is a bit of a surprise,” Chan says, “so it’s not like you’ve had time to think about it. Not like—I have.”

His words waver at the end, Soonyoung definitely hears it, but the falter is natural, not hesitant or reluctant, but reserved. Like he doesn’t want to let on just how much he’s thought about it. How much planning he might have done on his own.

“‘A bit of a surprise’,” Soonyoung repeats. He’s a bit breathless. “Well—you did tell me I’d be in your care, right?” he asks. He tilts his head up at Chan, taller than Soonyoung at his perch.

Chan grins. It’s predatory. Hungry. Soonyoung shivers.

“I did,” Chan replies, savouring the taste of the words out of his mouth—as well as those unsaid. “So—you’ll indulge me, then?”

“Sounds like a great gift to me,” Soonyoung says. His cheeks are still burning up. Sweat must be staining his forehead already. “Really—I couldn’t have thought of something so… so involved. I think it might—it might really—”

He swallows around the words that rush to his mouth all at once, clumsy, clamouring, and tries to pull the knots out of his tongue.

Chan puts a finger to Soonyoung’s lips.

“I think I get what you’re saying, hyung,” he murmurs. The smile on his face glints with the shine of a steel trap. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

What kind of hyung is he to let his maknae take care of him like this? To see his vulnerabilities like this?

Although the question takes form in his mind with an uncertain body, it dissipates in seconds, the smoke of a flare lost to the forest of his want. Maybe he’s a bad hyung. Maybe it’s okay, just for today. Just in this context, the one where he touches Chan with greedy hands and Chan lets him.

They negotiate with the plastic and eventually open the package without any injuries. Chan laughs once it’s finally freed; he is vibrant under the white LEDs, reflecting an entirely different world of light in Soonyoung’s direction.

The object in his hands is bulbous and, according to Chan, silicone. There’s a silver bullet buried in it and the entire toy comes to life at the press of a button.

“Oh,” Soonyoung breathes.

The answering grin on Chan’s face is wicked.

“There were some bigger ones,” Chan says, tracing his fingers over the steep curve leading to the tip, “but I figured we could work our way up to it.”

“You’ve really done your homework,” Soonyoung replies. There’s no point in trying to hide the tremor in his throat.

“You know me: I like to be thorough.”

“Just like how this thing is gonna thoroughly wreck my guts?”

Chan lifts an eyebrow. “Should I have gotten you a gag as well?” he asks.

Soonyoung whistles in response. “Kinky boy,” he croons. “Since when did two wrongs make a right, Channie?”

“Is it a wrong if it makes the experience more enjoyable for both of us?”

“I don’t think I like the implications of what you’re saying.”

“I think you’re lying.”

The grin on Chan’s lips remains strong. Soonyoung is weak in the face of it, and what’s left of his defenses crumbles when Chan clicks his bottle of lube open.

“Get up here,” Chan tells him, and Soonyoung complies.

They both sit back on their heels once Soonyoung finishes stripping. Soonyoung maintains eye contact with Chan as he pours lube over his fingers.

Chan moves forward with the power and certainty of a storm. Their lips crash like thunder and his touch sparks with electricity, roaming over the open expanse of Soonyoung’s hips in a way that leaves fire in his wake. Soonyoung’s dick comes to life in no time, and Soonyoung moans against Chan’s mouth when Chan’s fingertips come to his asshole.

“Someone’s eager,” Soonyoung says between shallow breaths.

“Gotta get down to business if I want things to play out like I planned,” Chan replies without missing a beat.

Words remain on Soonyoung’s tongue, but they’re whisked away by Chan’s. Soonyoung can’t help the amusement that curls against his palate; Chan’s tolerance for nonsense stays minimal even with the bridge of intimacy tethering them together.

Soonyoung whines as Chan works him open. It feels almost like routine now, the way Chan enters him and stretches him, the sight of those shoulders so straight and determined and disciplined as they support Chan’s rhythmic movement.

Chan slips out of him and presses a kiss to the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth, a touch of softness that contrasts the commanding control in his hands.

“I’m gonna put it in you now, okay?” he says, and his gentleness extends to the line of his voice as well.

Soonyoung nods. He sits back as Chan takes the toy into his grip. He watches as Chan covers it in a generous amount of lube.

The initial stretch is always so intense; Soonyoung’s chest tingles with his laboured breath.

Each curve and bump of the toy presses against him in different ways, and when the tip of it settles at its full extension, Soonyoung feels so tightly strung, exposed at the seam by Chan’s expert hand.

Chan watches Soonyoung as he breathes.

“You took that like a champ,” Chan whispers.

Soonyoung manages to crack a smile. “Your dick’s bigger than this,” he replies.

A helpless grin pulls at Chan’s face.

“Yes, well, even so, it’s not designed quite like this,” Chan says. He pushes the toy and its blunt tip presses right against Soonyoung’s sensitive spots.

Soonyoung gasps and groans and writhes; Chan watches him with a neutral gaze. Observing. It’s far from cold, though: the weight of Chan’s eyes warms Soonyoung to every corner of his body.

“How is it?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung swallows. “It’s—it’s a lot, not gonna lie,” Soonyoung pants.

Chan pushes the toy farther in. Soonyoung’s hips jerk.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Especially—especially when you do that.”

Soonyoung is entirely on display, cock hanging hard between his trembling thighs, sweat dousing his heaving, bare chest. And Chan just smiles down at him.

“I see,” Chan says. “Hang in there,” he adds, and he pats the swollen tip of Soonyoung’s erection.

Soonyoung swallows again. “Are you talking to me or my dick?” he asks.

“Both,” is Chan’s immediate answer. 

Soonyoung laughs a sound that is dry and creaks like a rusted door hinge. His body is used, but this is just the beginning.

When Chan rounds him with the rope in hand, he is firm, unrelenting. Soonyoung twists his body to accommodate Chan’s will and feels another of his layers stripped from him. He is bare in so many ways.

Soonyoung is unsure if he can keep his body supported on just his knees, but damn is he going to try. The unyielding wood of the conference table is harsh under him, but Chan, sitting next to him with his hands on Soonyoung’s feverish skin, is soft and welcoming.

Chan reaches between Soonyoung’s knees. There’s the click of a button before the vibrations start and send wave after wave of sensation throughout Soonyoung’s network of nerves.

Soonyoung feels it all the way up to his teeth. It blows through him like a winter wind and he shivers.

Chan leans back and observes him again. The constant stimulation wrenches Soonyoung’s desperation through his stomach to sit on his tongue and he whines and whimpers under Chan’s heavy gaze.

“How is it?” Chan asks. In the curve of his lips lies a sweetness Soonyoung craves; Soonyoung leans forward in hopes of tasting it.

When Soonyoung doesn’t answer, Chan reaches forward to cup his cheek.

“Well?” he asks. Sugary patience. Soonyoung wants to taste him.

“Feels good,” Soonyoung replies. His own impatience is bitter and he wants to wash it out with Chan’s tongue. “Will you touch me?” he asks. His mind is already fraying and he’s wondering about the point of this game, if he will come right now, like his body wants to.

Chan clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“If it feels good,” Chan says, “then why do you need me to touch you?”

Soonyoung whines, low and melancholy. He keens. Chan sits back as Soonyoung tries to shuffle forward on his knees, each movement costing monumental effort despite the microscopic distance covered.

“Because,” Soonyoung says, but he can’t think of an explanation that won’t incriminate him in some way.

“Mm?” Chan tilts his head. “Because what?” he asks.

“Because!” Soonyoung repeats. He’s at a loss. Maybe a pleading tone will be enough to appease the man before him. Maybe it will be enough to loosen the reins around his chest.

Chan hums. Then, he shakes his head again.

Without replying, he reaches forward and presses the button on the toy again. The vibrations increase in strength. Soonyoung would be brought to his knees if he weren’t already there.

Soonyoung’s senses swim as heat races through his nerves, seeking out god knows what. The boundaries of his body blink and blur as sensation courses through him; it floods through him, but to what end?

Soonyoung wants to come. He wants Chan’s hands on him. He can’t find the words to communicate his feelings. His mouth is full of tremors and his tongue lies helpless in the wake of it all.

But Chan seems pleased, and that is a beacon of light through the fog of arousal. Chan smiles at him and strokes his hair and pats his cheek.

“You’re taking it well, hyung,” Chan says, and Soonyoung knows that’s a good thing, and maybe if he’s good, Chan will eventually give in and touch him.

Soonyoung nods. 

“Yes, it’s—” he pauses to wet his lips. “It feels so good, Channie.”

Chan hums. He studies him.

“But it’s not enough,” he says.

Soonyoung nods rapidly.

Chan slides off the table, and Soonyoung hopes it’s so that he can strip. Soonyoung wants to see him, at the very least. Wants some of these barriers taken down. Wants to be closer.

The thought of being closer makes his chest ache with something beyond breathlessness.

Instead, Chan simply stays on his feet, weight balanced against the table. He keeps a casual hand on his hip and the other hovering over Soonyoung’s skin. His fingers brush over Soonyoung’s body with gentle strokes, exploratory and intent. The contact is grounding, and Soonyoung almost has half a mind to wonder what could be going through Chan’s head.

The thoughts are immediately dashed when Chan grabs Soonyoung’s dick none too gently. His dry palm is too much on Soonyoung’s sensitive skin and Soonyoung cries out, shaking so badly the table rattles.

“Is this what you want, hyung?” Chan asks, words scratched between his teeth, and the sound scrapes over Soonyoung’s skin. “Is this enough for you?”

Soonyoung nearly sobs. His tongue is swollen in his mouth and his jaw has rusted shut; he can do nothing but whine. He jerks his hips towards Chan’s hand, desperately hungry for touch, but his oversensitive nerves make his actions clumsy.

When tears start to well up in Soonyoung’s eyes, Chan stops. He pulls his hand away from Soonyoung’s dick to hold his cheek instead.

“Was that too much for you, hyung?” he asks. Still so sweet despite it all. Despite the sour shocks of overstimulation still sparking through Soonyoung’s hips.

Soonyoung’s mouth is hanging open as he gasps for breath. He hasn’t stopped shaking.

“N-No,” Soonyoung rasps out.

Chan lifts an eyebrow. The tension in his face shifts and then he’s smiling, and Soonyoung thinks he could look at that mouth all day, dream about it, beg for it, long for it with every breath he could take.

“Cute,” Chan murmurs to himself. He lifts his hand from Soonyoung’s face and Soonyoung feels the loss like a punch to the gut.

Hope sparks a flame in his stomach, however, when Chan retrieves the lube. He applies a generous amount to his palm. Soonyoung tracks the stream of liquid with attentive eyes. Each slow inch of it gathering in Chan’s palm makes him acutely aware of his desperation.

Again, Chan descends upon him so fully Soonyoung nearly drowns. He gasps and gasps and gasps, completely helpless. His hands twitch in their restraints. Just as desperate as he is for touch.

“You want to come, right?” Chan asks, husky, raspy, but not beyond recognition; his voice rings and echoes in Soonyoung’s ears, and the volume of it is still familiar.

“Please,” Soonyoung sobs.

Chan chuckles. “You ask so nicely,” Chan purrs. He pumps Soonyoung mercilessly, and the torrent of sensation brings tears to Soonyoung’s eyes again.

“I’m here, hyung,” Chan murmurs. Comfort warped by a sly smile. Soonyoung recognizes pleasure in the shape of Chan’s mouth. And that’s enough.

As Soonyoung quickly approaches his peak, his shoulders tense so hard it almost hurts; his body sings with both pleasure and pain. It’s a beautiful melody. He’s so small in Chan’s care, but it touches him at a basic level, a part of him that just wants to feel special.

Another sob wracks his chest when he feels he’s about to come. Chan pulls his hand off. He reaches down to turn the vibration off.

Everything falls silent. All Soonyoung can hear is the rush of blood coursing through his body. His heartbeat. The slight hiccup his chest can’t shake off.

For a moment, Soonyoung is completely dumbfounded.

Wasn’t he doing everything right? Was there something he could do? Is he being punished?

He can’t decide if he should cry. Too many things tumble through his head at once. All he can do is stare at Chan, entirely at Chan’s mercy.

Chan rubs a thumb over Soonyoung’s brow. Smooths out the tension there.

“Relax,” he says. “I’m taking care of you.”

Another hiccup bounces between them. Soonyoung closes his eyes as Chan continues to smooth out the lines in his face. The change in focus brings a shade of clarity to Soonyoung’s mind and some of the mist begins to rise.

“Chan,” Soonyoung murmurs.

“That’s it,” Chan replies. “I’m here.”

Soonyoung feels his legs loosen and his back curves in a slump. Chan kisses his cheek and rubs a hand up and down Soonyoung’s thigh.

“Am I—” Soonyoung starts, but he pauses to swallow. His throat is a desert. “Am I—not allowed? To come?”

“Patience,” Chan tells him. Soonyoung doesn’t understand the word. “You’ll get it soon enough. Just trust me.”

The air between them ripples with Chan’s last statement. It carries the weight of a question. 

Soonyoung will take on anything for Chan, any weight, any question. 

“I do,” Soonyoung says on the wisp of a breath.

And he does. He does.

Chan kisses Soonyoung on the mouth, sealing the words between them, capturing the promise. He kisses Soonyoung with care and tenderness as he finally rids himself of his pants. He parts to pick off his shirt, dropping it on a nearby chair.

A little laugh climbs up Soonyoung’s throat as Chan hops onto the table, socked feet hanging off the edge. Chan flashes him an easy smile.

Soonyoung’s eyes drift down to the seam of Chan’s thighs and finds his prize waiting for him. Only to be reminded that his hands are stuck behind his back.

“Chan,” Soonyoung mewls. He’s too tired at this point to try shuffling closer. “Gimme.”

When Chan shoots him a questioning look, Soonyoung throws a glance at Chan’s dick and opens his mouth.

Chan grins and rolls his eyes. “What did I tell you about patience, hyung?” he asks.

“It’s my birthday,” is all Soonyoung says.

“It is, but I’m not gonna change my plans just because you asked.”

Soonyoung whines. Chan kisses him and Soonyoung knows its purpose is to shut him up. He supposes he can’t complain.

He really can’t complain when Chan presses their bodies together. Chan sits between Soonyoung’s open thighs, a long line of heat against Soonyoung’s chest, warm relief. Soonyoung melts from the inside and he can’t spare even a moment to marvel at the sheer lack of time it took for him to become malleable to Chan’s authoritative touch.

Chan eases the toy out. Soonyoung’s chest tightens as his arousal comes crashing against his ribcage; his desperation surfaces again, and his breath shortens, and he feels almost frantic. But Chan holds him. Sets the toy aside. Kisses him.

With the help of Chan’s encouraging hands, Soonyoung comes forward and aligns his hips with Chan’s. Soonyoung looks down at him.

Chan simply smiles at him. Reaches up to smooth out the tension in his brow again.

“Take a seat, hyung,” Chan tells him. So he does.

Soonyoung slides down, guided by Chan’s bruising grip, and experiences every inch of Chan’s cock like a series of frames on a strip of film. Different scenes with just slight changes in scenery, but distinct enough to make their mark.

Chan sweeps his hands up the length of Soonyoung’s body, over his hips and his ribs, pointedly ignoring his dick. It’s a brief touch, but there’s something indulgent about it; Soonyoung would give Chan anything he asked, but maybe Chan just doesn’t know how to ask.

They have time to figure it out.

“Move,” Chan tells him.

So he does.

Soonyoung quickly finds his second wind. Chan’s expectant gaze on him and the hints of a smirk on his calm countenance are enough to inspire Soonyoung to reach any height. And Soonyoung watches him in return. Watches as his breath changes shape in his lungs and his face flushes dark. So beautifully vibrant, hues and colours no painter could capture or recreate.

The burn in Soonyoung’s thighs only pushes him to move faster. That exquisite harmony of pleasure and pain singing in his nerves is nothing like he’s ever felt before; it’s Chan’s gift to him, he realizes, he knows.

His eyes squeeze shut when he feels his orgasm build once more, water rising behind a dam, and it’s amazing how Chan can read his tells, and Chan stops him once again. Their physical link keeps Soonyoung from falling off the edge of sanity: he knows Chan won’t let him go now. But he does wonder what’s left in store for him.

“I’m gonna untie you now,” Chan tells him. His voice cuts clear through the fog of Soonyoung’s laboured breathing, though it retains bits of strain, fraying just at the edges.

Chan moves carefully so that he doesn’t jostle Soonyoung from his seat. He rests his mouth against Soonyoung’s shoulder as he pulls the knots free from Soonyoung’s restraints.

“Hold on,” Chan says, and Soonyoung does as he’s told without hesitation. He loops his arms around Chan’s neck and then he’s looking up at the ceiling, bright white light a bodiless halo over Chan’s head.

“I got you.” The words are pressed against Soonyoung's ear and it's all Soonyoung has to hold onto as Chan begins to thrust into him hard and fast. 

Soonyoung carves crescents into Chan’s shoulders as tears run in streams down his cheeks. His breath is a wild creature finally let free from the confines of his chest, hiccuping, skipping over the expanse of Chan’s back. 

“Chan, Chan,” Soonyoung whimpers. Relief transforms him into a weak little thing at Chan’s hands. But his trust has landed him in a bed of flower petals with beauty at the head of it all. 

“I’m here,” Chan replies. His face is still against Soonyoung's cheek. “I’m here, hyung.”

“So good,” Soonyoung says, and he babbles and whines and whimpers and mewls as Chan drives into him over and over. 

What keeps Soonyoung from floating away from this realm of reality is Chan and his collection of landmarks, his eyelashes brushing against Soonyoung’s cheek, his shoulders framing Soonyoung, his thighs braced against Soonyoung’s. The familiarity of him is grounding.

Chan shifts his angle and Soonyoung’s cock is caught between their stomachs. Soonyoung jerks but Chan holds him there. Holds him down.

“Hyung.”

Soonyoung blinks clouds from his eyes. He’s floating but he’s not gone yet.

“Hyung,” Chan says again, pressed flat against his tongue, soft, vulnerable. “Hyung. Hyung.”

Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut and he finally comes.

Chan’s thrusting rocks them both, relentless, thorough in a way that is so characteristically Chan. Soonyoung rides it out, blissful, relief woven into every fibre of his body. Chan can take whatever he wants now, should he ask for it or not. 

Afterwards. Soonyoung has trouble assembling the abstract angles and curves of time. There is Chan and within him is a world of pleasure. Softness. Candy floss that wraps him in sweetness.

Afterwards, Chan holds him. Slowly, Soonyoung falls through canopies of clouds and foliage to return to the earth. And waiting for him is Chan.

Chan kisses his forehead. Then his eyelids. Then his nose. Before Chan reaches his lips, Soonyoung reaches up to cup Chan’s cheek.

Words wobble on Soonyoung’s tongue. His jaw is stiff, but he works hard at loosening the hinge so he can speak.

Chan smiles at him and beats him to it: “Happy birthday, hyung,” he says. Glowing. Bright. Soonyoung’s beacon.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung replies and immediately knows it’s not enough. But Chan smiles at him while Soonyoung tries not to imagine understanding in places he can’t see it.

Chan nuzzles him and the pure affection brings mirth to Soonyoung’s chest. They giggle together, maybe a bit high on endorphins, but who’s counting.

“You’re a gift,” Soonyoung says into Chan’s hair. He’s combing through the sweat with one hand and gripping Chan’s shoulders with the other.

“You exaggerate.”

Soonyoung presses a wet kiss to Chan’s head. “I mean that in so many ways I can’t even begin to explain,” he says.

Chan laughs and buries his face into Soonyoung’s chest. Always so modest in the face of praise.

It brings with it a hint of awkwardness that Soonyoung is already eager to extinguish. He squeezes Chan one more time before attempting to sit up.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung grunts.

He is exhausted.

Chan raises himself on his hands and drags his eyes over Soonyoung with fresh concern.

“Are you okay?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung lets out a low breath. “I think I’m gonna have to lie down a bit more,” he mutters. He collapses onto his back.

Chan fills his vision, looking down at him, face obscured and backlit. 

“Do you need me to get you anything? I brought water. I wonder if I still have that bread, too…”

Soonyoung pats Chan’s shoulder.

“Just stay with me,” he says.

When the words leave his mouth, apprehension grips him for just a moment. Just a moment. It passes as he remembers that a simple request such as that can’t mean that much in the grand scheme of things. Especially when the grand scheme of things included such careful planning. An experience tailored just for him.

Soonyoung is buried up to his chin in warm exhaustion. Chan settles beside him, head balanced on his hand, elbow on the table.

“Really, hyung,” Chan says, “happy birthday. You really… You’ve really worked so hard up ‘til today. And… I hope this was a fun little moment of—you know. Leisure.”

Soonyoung smiles. “You say that like you didn’t just put me to work,” he says, though the wide grin on his face betrays the tone of his words.

“Everything good in life takes a bit of work, hyung. A bit of work, a bit of sacrifice, you know.”

Soonyoung gazes upon his maknae with softness he’s unsure he can completely filter. Chan broke him down and he’s still in the process of rebuilding. Maybe it’s appropriate that he let down his walls now. Maybe this is the sign. The two of them lounging naked in this conference room. Maybe this is it.

Soonyoung chews on the question and watches as Chan busies himself with cleanup. In a bag on a chair off to the side is Chan’s cleanup kit: washcloths, water bottles, an extra pair of underwear. Chan is careful in wiping down the discarded toy before packing it away.

Chan looks over to his hyung and Soonyoung can already feel the shape of a question in the tension of Chan’s jaw.

“Hyung,” he says, and his hesitation feels a bit out of character. “Would you—is it okay if I—maybe you should let me clean you up,” is what he finally lands on.

Soonyoung could laugh.

“Is this part of the birthday package?” he asks.

Chan nods. The hint of sheepishness to it is endearing beyond words.

“I figured—since I did make you work, this is only fair,” he explains.

“Sounds good to me,” Soonyoung replies, beaming.

If Chan expected him to put up a fight against some pampering, then he clearly doesn’t know him that well. They’ve crossed a number of borders today—Chan can continue to take care of his hyung if that’s what he so desires.

It’s just for one day. Just this one time.

“It’s gonna be a bit cold,” Chan warns him as he approaches with a washcloth.

It soothes Soonyoung’s aching thighs and it doesn’t take much for Soonyoung to melt into a puddle on the table. Soonyoung shivers and laughs when Chan’s touch passes over his stomach.

“That’s so gross,” Soonyoung laughs. His fluids are giving Chan some pause.

Chan grimaces. “We don’t need to talk about it,” he mutters in reply.

“You’re taking it like a champ.”

“I said, we don’t need to talk about it.”

Soonyoung resists the urge to grab Chan’s face and pepper his face in kisses. Just to find some outlet for his gratitude.

When Soonyoung reaches a level of cleanliness that Chan deems acceptable, Chan sits back and folds up his towels.

“Squeaky clean,” Soonyoung says. “I don’t feel anything between my ass cheeks anymore.”

Chan smiles wryly. “Then I’d call that a job well done,” he states. He tucks everything away into a zipper bag and asks, “How are you feeling now, hyung?”

“Better.” Soonyoung sits up. He comes face to face with Chan, who looks up once Soonyoung’s back is upright.

Chan stares at him. That observant gaze is heavy each time it falls over Soonyoung, but Soonyoung has already come to appreciate the weight of it. It’s not so bad to be looked after, he has realized.

“I really—” Chan starts, his voice bursting from the seam of his lips, “I really love you, you know? And I hope—I just want you to know that you really mean so, so much to me, hyung.”

Soonyoung can’t quite tell if it’s a trick of the light or maybe even residual tears in his eyes, but it almost seems like Chan is blushing. God knows how hard it is to verbally express affection, sometimes.

Soonyoung takes Chan by the shoulder. Chan continues to stare at him, eyes big.

Soonyoung kisses him on the cheek. He feels Chan smile in response and a smile of his own stretches his lips.

“I love you too, Channie,” Soonyoung says. Speaking it into existence is a lot less like releasing a beast from its cage, unlike Soonyoung initially anticipated. In this context, his admission is not quite the same beast, he supposes.

“And thank you so much for this.” Soonyoung almost goes in for a kiss on the mouth, but instead, he squeezes Chan’s shoulder.

Chan’s lips quirk with his amusement. “It was my pleasure,” he replies.

They finish cleaning up. Soonyoung’s clothes fit him differently when he pulls them back on, like he’s a changed man, transformed over the span of an hour or so. He’s tired, but electricity still courses through him.

His smile sparks at the corners when he turns to face Chan.

“Think you’re up for some extra practice?” he asks. He leans in with an elbow to Chan’s ribs. “A couple rounds. While we’re still here.”

Chan’s eyebrows rise, but there’s a smile on his face to match Soonyoung’s.

“If you’re up for it,” he says, an unsaid  _ after all that _ fit in between the lines, “then I’m game.”

Soonyoung grins. He can always count on Chan.


	8. Chapter 8

The Diamond Edge tour starts off with a downpour. The boys don’t let it put a damper on the event. They adamantly refuse to give nature that kind of power despite the impressive display brewing in the sky.

“Is this your doing, Hoshi-ya?” Wonwoo asks. There’s a slanted smile on his lips, tinted already. His foundation stands up to the heavy humidity hanging between them.

“Maybe, maybe,” Soonyoung replies. He hopes the orange in his hair will last through the weekend. “I guess the universe decided that our fireworks weren’t enough fanfare for the event.”

Wonwoo scoffs. He walks away without another word, his focus shifted like sand slipping between fingers.

Soonyoung can’t blame him. With the fans already seated, it’s hard to keep one steady train of thought. There are so many factors to consider and so many things planned. So many things that could go wrong.

Soonyoung blinks and it’s already time for Performance Unit’s individual stages. Makeup artists continue to touch up his face after layers melt off once exposed to that viscous summer heat.

The thick choker—more like a stylized collar, in Soonyoung’s opinion—around Chan’s neck is distracting. And it seems to be distracting Chan, too: he continuously adjusts it and scratches his skin under it.

“Stop that,” Soonyoung chides him. “It’s gonna get red and the makeup artists are gonna be mad about it. Then it’s only gonna get itchier because they’ll have to put more makeup on you.”

Chan immediately drops his hands to his sides.

“It’s not that bad,” Chan mutters. He tilts his head from side to side. “I just—I can’t get it to sit right. It’s loose and this one metal bit keeps scratching me.”

“Let me see.”

Soonyoung steps into Chan’s space. Heat stands between them, a product of summer and vigorous performance, but Soonyoung pays it no heed and lets it singe his skin.

Soonyoung dips a finger between the choker and Chan’s neck. He loops it around the circumference of Chan’s neck until the aforementioned metal catches on his skin.

“Ah,” Soonyoung murmurs. “Hmm.”

He turns the choker a couple of inches to the side so that the metal loop is sitting on the back of Chan’s neck. As he moves it, he feels the sturdiness of the material, notes the D-ring that dangles at the front of Chan’s throat. A leash would clip onto it easily.

“Does that change anything?” Soonyoung asks.

Chan hums.

“Maybe,” Chan starts. He swallows. “Maybe you should pull on it. I need to check if it’s still annoying even while moving.”

Soonyoung swallows, too. All this moisture in the air and yet his throat retains none of it.

“Makes sense,” he mumbles.

He slips his finger into the D-ring. He pulls.

Chan remains steady on his feet despite the tug. Soonyoung pulls a little harder. Chan tilts his head then, tipping his chin back and away from Soonyoung.

Soonyoung feels sweat building over his forehead again. Hopefully it won’t ruin his hair.

“W-Well?” Soonyoung asks. The thick air resists the movement of his jaw, presses against his teeth.

“It’s better,” Chan hums. He’s almost purring.

This is dangerous.

“We can get some tape,” Soonyoung says, trying to keep his tongue slow, trying not to babble. “I can ask one of the stylists. They’ve gotta have something.”

“No, I think it’s fine now.” 

Chan doesn’t move. He lowers his jaw a little. Brushes his chin against the top of Soonyoung’s hand, still linked to that D-ring.

“Thank you, hyung,” Chan chirps.

Soonyoung slides his finger out of the metal and immediately feels his balance wobble. He needs something to hold onto.

His eyes linger on the choker for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“Oh,” Chan says, and he steps back into Soonyoung’s space. “Hyung, your belt is crooked.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll fix it for you.”

In seconds, Chan’s hands are on him. He pulls the belt out of the buckle before adjusting it against Soonyoung’s hips. His fingers tug at the belt loops and Soonyoung stutters forward to compensate for the shift in gravity.

“There,” Chan says, satisfied.

Soonyoung looks down. He’s not sure anything looks different.

Chan’s hands slip down the front of Soonyoung’s jeans as he tucks Soonyoung’s shirt back in.

There was definitely some dick touching there.

Soonyoung looks up at the sky, wishing he could see the sun and burn away the distracting thoughts biting at the edge of his mind.

Before long, Performance Unit is being sent out onto the stage. Soonyoung finds the tape marking his spot and stares at his faint reflection staring back at him from the plexiglass box standing before him. He tries not to glance over at Chan as music starts to fill his skull.

Fog builds at their feet. It has been warmed by the contagious summer heat, feverish. Heat that’s become an extension of Soonyoung. A tempest in the making, curling in the atmosphere. Cameras turn their attentive eyes onto him and the heat flares. But there is no danger here. Soonyoung basks in the flames.

Soonyoung kicks down the glass panel and steps out into the light.

Soonyoung hurries backstage as Chan begins the intro to his solo song. As he strips off his costume, he keeps his eye on the screen playing back the camera footage. He nearly takes out one of his own eyes between his narrowed attention and reckless speed.

One of the stylists tugs his shirt off with pointed strength. Soonyoung offers her a sheepish smile and finally turns his head away from the screen. 

It’s when he’s being powdered down in an attempt to absorb any future moisture that he gets another chance to focus his gaze on the screen. Chan stands in the middle of the stage, wind blowing back his dark hair, jacket glittering like stars reflected in a black sea. His cheekbones cut across his face severely, seriously, and Soonyoung wonders when his maknae grew up.

Chan tilts his head up at an angle. The D-ring on his choker flutters with the force of the wind. His lips are parted. His skin is damp, dewy. The rise of his cheekbones is covered in a flush exaggerated by sparkling pigment.

He stalks across the stage and his footsteps over that walkway land daggers in Soonyoung’s heart one after another and another and another. 

It’s a sweet ache.

When Chan bares his teeth at the camera, a wolf posturing, Soonyoung is caught between laughter and freezing up. His body decides on both and his stomach tenses while his chest vibrates, his mouth caught in a twisted smile.

The rest of the boys share their mirth before quieting for the rest of the song. The intensity Chan brings with him, the extension of his arm and the microphone stand that blow up his presence, his sheer volume, blankets them in awe.

Chan returns from stage, chest still heaving. His mouth is curled as he breathes through his noise. Soonyoung wonders about the shape of that mouth, thinks about how Chan’s already laboured breath would quiver around Soonyoung’s fingers, squeezed out by the tension in his collar. Choker.

Soonyoung’s teeth creak in his mouth before he makes his way to the stage. He and Chan exchange a single glance, the heavy air of a storm caught in a brief moment, before their paths continue to crawl past each other.

Again, Soonyoung is enveloped by fog. The first stages of his brewing torrent. He lowers himself to his knees, his elbows. And from this tumultuous hurricane he will rise, triumphant, powerful.

He banishes any thoughts of being taken like this, on the floor, parallel with the earth at his most basic of forms, and gathers the crackling energy dancing around him, pulls it into his core.

And then he bursts forth.

Chan drags him away before they can make it entirely backstage after Highlight.

They stumble into some beams, a space behind the stage meant to compensate for quick changes of scenery, a land beyond a careful watcher’s eye.

Chan’s hands are on his belt. Soonyoung has a feeling he’s not going to adjust any imaginary flaws this time.

Soonyoung presses his open palm against the warm skin of Chan’s belly through the opening in his shirt. “Distressed.” That’s how Soonyoung felt every time he had to look at Chan dancing in this thing.

“Now?” Soonyoung asks. His tone is caught between a question and a statement. He wants Chan now, it’s true. But is  _ now _ the best time for this?

Chan pulls his belt open and unzips his pants. His hand disappears down the front of Soonyoung’s pelvis.

“Now,” Chan replies, a wicked grin on his tinted lips.

Before Soonyoung can think of any more half-baked thoughts to voice aloud, Chan kisses him, hotter and wetter than this rainy summer evening. Chan licks into him and it’s sloppy and urgent, laced with a desperation that burns through Soonyoung cleaner than anything. Not quite a branding, but Soonyoung can imagine it, and that’s enough for now, the short present moment.

Soonyoung presses back with all he can give. This is not meant to last and so Soonyoung can go as fast as he wants. It’s something he’s never shaken off, in their months of shared orgasms, the desire to make Chan feel as good as he can as soon as possible. It’s not that he doesn’t want it to last. But some unthinking part of his brain wants instant gratification for his Chan.

There’s not much room to maneuvre in this alcove, this small world created for them by their own making, but Soonyoung manages to snake a hand down into Chan’s pants. They’re tight, but he makes do. His other hand ghosts over the curve of Chan’s throat for just a second, reminiscent of a brief moment passed, before settling into Chan’s hair.

“Be careful,” Chan mutters against his mouth. Soonyoung can only grin.

They breathe and moan against each other’s mouths, swallowing what noise they can, suppressing everything else that escapes. And a lot pours forth, floods, torrents, so much built over the scant hours that have passed, built up from love of fans and performance and, dare he say it, each other. It’s a nebulous amalgamation of so many things and the flavour is exquisite, deliciously complex. 

In this shared moment, Soonyoung feels, with confidence, that he and Chan are on the same page, riding out the same wave of sensation and emotion. And at the crest of it, they stand together, tangled threads unending, and Soonyoung is thrilled.

Exhilarated down to his core and grateful in each of his trembling fibres.

Soonyoung comes first, sensitive, and Chan tongues at one of Soonyoung’s earrings. His breath is hot on Soonyoung’s throat when he says, “That’s it. That’s it, hyung.”

Soonyoung squirms. Clenches his eyes. Chan presses his mouth against his neck, not quite kissing him. Holding him.

In turn, Soonyoung presses his face against Chan’s shoulder. When his body stops shaking, he doubles his efforts and feels Chan tense, coiling tighter, tighter, tighter. As he approaches his peak, Chan opens his mouth against Soonyoung’s shoulder and digs his teeth into his flesh through fabric, wet noises caught in the weave of his shirt.

“Hyung,” Chan whines, clinging, and Soonyoung stands on firm feet to pull him through it.

Soonyoung withdraws his hand from Chan’s pants. He looks at the mess they’ve made. Chan shoots him a sheepish look.

“Maybe there’s a water bottle lying around we can use?” Chan suggests.

Soonyoung laughs and together, they put their eyes to the ground to find something they can use to clean up the evidence.

They dodge a few members of technical staff before they find an abandoned water bottle. They crouch by the grass and hastily wash their hands.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls. “What the hell are you two doing out here? You need to get changed, fast.”

Soonyoung jumps to his feet, struck by lightning. An angry Seungcheol is a force to be reckoned with. And not in the fun way, either.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says, and it’s all he’s got in ways of explanation. He doubts Seungcheol is in a listening mood, anyway.

But Chan grabs Soonyoung’s hand, grinning, a laugh in the folds of his lips stretched over his teeth. 

“Worth it, right?” Chan asks. He’s pulling Soonyoung towards Seungcheol.

Soonyoung can’t help but grin back.

“Of course.”

* * *

They go on tour. It’s equal parts thrilling and exhausting, flying from city to city, crossing time zones and international borders. It forces some sort of deconstruction and reconstruction of time and space; it’s an eye opener, to put it lightly.

Soonyoung drinks in the new sights with his usual gluttonous ardour and it washes through him and colours him into a new person. The dregs of the cities he leaves behind layer over the other and build strata that construct him anew. He’s changed; he’s grateful; he’s guilty.

He doesn’t deserve the love fans spill at his feet. He doesn’t deserve to walk these new lands. He doesn’t deserve to carve paths into them, leave lacerations behind, brief as they may be.

Knowing this with a certainty that aches at his core makes him more grateful still.

That night, in Kuala Lumpur, he reaches yet a new height of thankfulness. He is filled, head to toe. He trembles with gratitude and love. It shivers in his chest. He’s lucky his boys find it infectious, contagious, grinning along with him, unadulterated joy and delight.

He returns to his hotel room after the show with his maknae and he can’t contain his joy.

Soonyoung grabs Chan around the waist as the door closes behind him with a click. Chan immediately bursts into surprised giggles as Soonyoung throws him around and around.

“Hyung,” Chan laughs, breathless. Glowing. His cheeks pink with effort and it bounces against the yellow lamp light painting the room. The sun has long set and the only light that remains is Chan’s radiance and the round table lamp between their two beds.

Soonyoung tosses Chan onto the nearest bed and chases after him, mounting him easily. Chan, still lacking breath, smiles up at Soonyoung with a tired softness so velvety Soonyoung wishes he could hold it, that it were something tangible for him to luxuriate in with senses other than his sight.

“Soonyoung,” Chan says with renewed breath. “Hyung,” he adds and lifts an arm to brace the back of Soonyoung’s neck. “God, you’re just—”

Soonyoung leans in. Nearly brings them nose to nose. He fills the minute space between them with a grin.

“I’m what, Channie?” he asks.

Chan’s eyes flicker over Soonyoung’s face. That softness remains in his features, candy floss so sweet Soonyoung tastes it in the back of his mouth.

“You’re heavy,” Chan says, decisive, and he uses his arm to roll Soonyoung under him.

Soonyoung laughs and rolls with it. He resists throwing his own arms up over Chan’s shoulders to pull him in for a kiss. Instead, he contents himself with brushing his hands through Chan’s hair.

He sits up. Chan continues to lounge, resting his arm on Soonyoung’s thigh, chin nestled in the crook of his own elbow as he looks up at his hyung.

“I can be heavier,” Soonyoung tells him. “Shall we order some room service?”

“If you’re paying, I’m game.”

“Of course, maknae-ya. I’m the hyung. It’s on me.”

Chan makes a vague noise of complaint, but it’s exaggerated, a gesture made in good fun.

Together, cuddled up in bed, they browse the hotel menu. Chan rests his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder and Soonyoung presses his cheek against the top of Chan’s head, gel crunchy under his foundation-plastered skin.

They end up ordering some curry noodles and fried rice. Soonyoung is looking forward to the warm carbs despite the oppressive summer heat blistering just outside their hotel windows.

Chan rolls over so that he’s lying on Soonyoung’s stomach with his elbows hanging off the side of the bed. He scrolls through his phone. So damn comfortable.

Soonyoung settles back against the pillows and Chan shifts just slightly to accommodate him. He remains, unbothered, absorbed in his phone.

Quiet drizzles over them. Soonyoung feels the slick slide of it over his skin, against the shell of his ear. His heart remains on its wings, but now it has started its descent. It's a long way down; Soonyoung dreads not the landing but the fall. If vertigo may turn his senses to jelly. 

Every joy has its opposite. Things that rise must also fall. 

Soonyoung looks at Chan, who scratches at his face absently, skirting an irritated pimple.

At least he's got good company on the way down. 

The food comes and it's good. Soonyoung wipes sauce from Chan's face and receives minimal complaints and objections.

Chan’s tongue swipes over the corner of his mouth. “If you wanna put your fingers in my mouth so bad,” he says with an air so casual it cools Soonyoung's skin, “you could just say so.”

It takes Soonyoung a while longer to formulate a response than he’d like to admit.

“You’re still eating,” he replies. “I thought it’d be polite to at least wait until you were finished.”

Chan laughs. “Oh, so we’re worried about being polite, now?” he asks.

“Just finish up your food, Channie.”

Chan grins. “Of course, hyung. Gotta grow up big and strong and all that.”

Soonyoung resists the urge to throw a punch. Instead, he focuses on eating and trying not to fall for every smug look Chan sends his way. It’s ridiculous: how on earth can a man look so appealing with makeup melting off his face and noodles sticking out from his lips?

The food lies heavy like a blanket over Soonyoung’s earlier energy. As he throws his chopsticks into a paper bag, he thinks of his fingers in Chan’s mouth, but he also thinks of running a washcloth over Chan’s face and standing in the shower with him so he can wash the gel out of his hair.

In a blink, Chan is an inch away from Soonyoung’s face. He eases the paper bag full of trash from Soonyoung’s grip and sets it aside.

“Crashing now?” Chan asks. The grin on his face is sharp but his words are soft. “You look out of it.”

Soonyoung looks up. Chan’s eyelids fall fractionally, blinds stuttering over a window, and he reaches out to brush some hair out of Soonyoung’s face.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Soonyoung says.

Chan agrees and pulls Soonyoung out of his seat.

The hotel shower is roomy enough for the both of them. They fuss over oil cleansers and exfoliating washes and they scrub themselves of the remnants of their makeup. Left behind are scattered pigments and underneath it all is Chan, pink and brilliant, looking at him with eyes circled with fatigue.

“Let me wash your hair,” Soonyoung says. His words are almost lost to the water hitting tile, but their shared space amplifies the sound of his voice.

Chan makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he turns around too quickly for it to be resistance. Chan, standing under the spray with slouched shoulders, puts up less of a struggle than the gel does. It’s a battle Soonyoung gladly fights.

When it’s Soonyoung’s turn to wash up, Chan turns around to swap places with him. There’s a moment where they stand face to face, eyes rapidly blinking away water, and Soonyoung feels transient here, different versions of himself flashing before Chan’s clouded vision.

“Is it hard,” Soonyoung finds himself asking, “to shower and stuff since you don’t have your glasses on?”

Chan blinks up at him. Then, his face breaks into a smile, and he says, “No, hyung. I don’t need to see every single hair on my body to clean myself. Though, actually, shaving can be a pain because the light is usually blocked by the shower curtain or my own body and then I miss spots.”

“Guess it’s good that we usually have someone else take care of that problem,” Soonyoung comments.

For a second, all Chan does is stare up at him with a disbelieving smile.

“Where did that question come from?” he asks.

Soonyoung hums. He thumbs a stream of water running over Chan’s brow and directs it away from Chan’s eye.

“I dunno,” Soonyoung says. “Just a random thought.”

Chan rolls his eyes and grabs Soonyoung by the forearms. “Just get under the water,” he tells him, and Soonyoung clearly hears the unspoken ‘idiot’ tacked onto the end of his sentence.

As Chan leans over to drag his fingers over Soonyoung’s scalp, Soonyoung can feel Chan’s weight suspended, balanced on his toes. Soonyoung grins.

“Did you ever do this with your brother?” Soonyoung asks.

“You’re just full of dumb questions today, huh.”

Soonyoung ignores him. “I think that would be cute, helping him wash up. Though I always imagined that sort of thing with a bath. A bubble bath. And some toys. A little otter to keep him company,” Soonyoung babbles.

“I think I might have, once or twice,” Chan says on the ghost of a sigh. “He’s not that much younger than me, so if I did it, we were at an age where I can’t remember much.”

Soonyoung hums his understanding.

“You really seem like an older brother,” Soonyoung says.

“So I’ve been told.”

“It suits you.”

If Chan makes any sort of positive expression, Soonyoung can’t see it beyond the water and suds. Chan doesn’t pull away, so that’s a good sign, Soonyoung thinks.

There’s care in Chan’s touch, care not to pull or tangle or scratch. Eventually, he lowers his hands, sweeping water down the length of Soonyoung’s neck and over the expanse of his shoulders.

“I’m done,” Chan tells him.

Soonyoung blinks his eyes open. Drops of water spray over Chan’s cheeks in rapid succession, but it’s not enough to mask his expression, the plush openness of his calm eyes and slightly parted lips.

Soonyoung holds up a V-sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks.

Chan smacks him upside the head.

Afterwards, Soonyoung wipes down Chan with a fluffy towel and makes sure to get between his legs. Chan laughs, holding onto the counter for balance.

“Is there a reason you’re being so thorough, hyung?” Chan asks. “Planning to put your mouth where the sun doesn’t shine?”

“If that’s what you want, Channie, all you need to do is ask.”

“I wouldn’t say no if that’s what you had in mind.”

Soonyoung gets onto his knees. Chan looks down at him and puts a hand in Soonyoung’s wet hair.

“Turn around,” Soonyoung tells him, spinning his finger.

Once Chan does so, Soonyoung buries his face between Chan’s generous ass cheeks. He relishes in the intimate contact, the firm weight against his lips. He turns his face to bite and satisfaction curls in his stomach when Chan yelps.

He helps himself to another round of dinner. Chan comes against the bathroom counter and Soonyoung gets a full view of him jerking off in the mirror.

Chan leans his weight onto his hands, braced against the counter, trying to catch his breath. 

“I feel like I need another shower,” he pants. 

Soonyoung laughs. “Well, it's right there. Go nuts,” he says. 

“No offers to clean me up this time?”

“I gotta catch my breath too, dude.”

Soonyoung ends up taking the showerhead off the wall to spray between Chan’s legs. It earns him a mewling Chan in return, shoulders hunched as the pressure dances over his sensitive spots. When he turns the water off, the room is suddenly filled to the brim with silence. Chan is shaking against the shower tiles. Slowly, he turns, hair still damp against his forehead, eyes dark.

Then, it’s Chan’s turn to get to his knees. Soonyoung comes against the back of Chan’s throat and tries not to choke to death laughing when Chan spits it into the shower drain.

They both end up in fluffy robes before they collapse into their respective beds. It seems too soon to shut off the lamps, too soon to invite the spectre of nighttime into their room. The energy from the show lingers in the walls and the ceiling and the fibres of the carpet laid over the floor. Small doses, little fairies of happiness, thrumming with life.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says, putting his phone next to his pillow, “are you feeling sleepy?”

Chan grunts in response.

Soonyoung rolls onto his stomach. His cheek presses against the mattress, the cool sheets. “I’m really awake right now,” he says.

Chan hums. “Funny,” he replies, “usually an orgasm knocks you right out.”

“You too!”

A grin cracks Chan’s face. He puts his phone on the night stand with a clatter. “Okay, fine,” he says. “Guess I am awake, then.”

Soonyoung stares at the carpet, wonders about the fairies residing there.

“It’s crazy, you know,” Soonyoung says, and he feels himself careening into another plane, a tilting of his mindframe, “how we’ve gone to all these different countries and met so many carats—like, so,  _ so _ many carats, from all over the world. They love us so much and go out there with all these people who love us and line up for merch with our faces on it and stuff, you know?”

“Yeah,” Chan says lowly, like the weight of Soonyoung’s words rest directly on his tongue and jaw.

“They do our fanchants or just scream the lyrics and like… There’s dedication there,” Soonyoung continues. He looks up at Chan and finds him in a similar position, face hidden in the folds of his pillow. 

“I hope,” Soonyoung continues, still unsure of his mouth’s destination, “that our performances, our shows, makes all that dedication—worth it.”

Silence falls between them. Soonyoung burrows under it, pressing his face further into his pillow.

“It’s funny,” Chan says, shooing away the silence before it grows cold or hairy, “like, it seems that they reflect us, you know? We put so much effort into our work and it’s reflected back to us, like, hundred-fold in the sheer number of fans that show up.”

Soonyoung nods against the pillow. “Yeah,” he says.

“We’ve really come so far.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of quiet. The fairies must be going to sleep.

“You know,” Soonyoung says, “you’ve really grown up.”

Chan groans. “Hyung,” he complains. He lifts his head to pout at Soonyoung. “Is this getting you nostalgic or something? Are you getting sentimental?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung answers immediately.

“I was joking,” Chan says, but his exasperation is a smiling one.

“I’m coming over.”

“I guess it’s not really my thing to stop you, huh.”

Soonyoung is in Chan’s bed. Chan moulds to his side, an easy overlapping of boundaries. An arm over his chest, fingers splayed together, his chin on the shoulder.

“Are you making fun of me for having feelings?” Soonyoung asks. His voice is low and scattered in fabrics, a low pleasant hum trapped between their bodies.

“Nooo.”

“That’s not very nice of you, Channie.”

A laugh between the sheet folds.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Just because some of us actually have feelings doesn’t mean you should act out.”

Chan snorts.

“I guess the bullshit runs 24/7, huh?”

“I couldn’t turn it off even if I tried.”

Soonyoung turns and the act of rolling separates them into two different beings for a second. Being separate is not so bad: Soonyoung gets to drape his eyes over Chan and experience him visually. There is a lot to experience.

Chan cuddles closer, accommodating yet again, and his wrists find the curve of Soonyoung’s soft middle.

“I have,” Chan tells him, “so many feelings I couldn’t count them all.”

“You say that with the most sincere tone I have ever heard in my life.”

“Living in hyperbole is an artist’s life, isn’t it?”

“Ooh, deep. Better save that one for a song, eh?”

Chan laughs and tucks his face into the crook of Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“I promise you,” he says, “I have feelings.”

Soonyoung hums and rubs a hand over Chan’s back. 

“I know you do, Channie. You couldn’t go out there on stage without them.”

Chan hums in response. “Good,” he says. “Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

Contemplating Chan’s feelings is a trap with obvious warning signs and red sirens. Soonyoung carefully sidesteps that train of thought and hops aboard a new one.

“I was serious, though,” Soonyoung says, and maybe this next train of thought isn’t a better one, “that you’ve really grown. It’s been—god, I don’t even know how long since we started this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

Soonyoung slips his hand lower down Chan’s back to grab his ass. A small squeak pops out of Chan’s throat.

“I-I don’t get it,” Chan says.

“The fucking thing,” Soonyoung replies.

“Oh.” Chan pushes his ass into Soonyoung’s hand. “If you’re going straight for the ass, of course the growth is gonna be noticeable.”

Soonyoung barks a laugh and Chan grins up at him. 

“And I don’t think my dick got bigger, but I guess you’d know better than me.”

“Chan, if your dick got bigger, I’d buy you dinner,” Soonyoung tells him. “Just for letting me on that thing. Actually, maybe I should do it anyway. Are you hungry?”

Chan pushes lightly at Soonyoung’s chest and pushes his rising giggles back down his throat. “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he tells Soonyoung.

Chan’s fingers curl against the back of Soonyoung’s neck and his eyelashes brush against Soonyoung’s cheek.

“It’s—” Chan starts, and Soonyoung feels the hesitation shift his ribs around, a strain like grasping for words, searching with stretched fingertips. “It feels kind of weird to say, but, since we’re talking about feelings and all that, I guess—I’m grateful for that, too, you know. That we can have this between us, just us. Almost like an inside joke.”

“Is the joke that my dick is small?”

“Hyung,” Chan sighs. Then, he leans back to meet Soonyoung’s eye, and that itself is enough to drop Soonyoung’s alertness from soft and wondering to slightly less so.

“Your dick is a lovely size,” Chan says, and Soonyoung deflates.

“Oh my god, my dick is tiny,” Soonyoung laments.

Chan rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face when he says, “Hyung, if your dick was tiny, I wouldn’t have to take my time getting used to the feel of it in my mouth when I give you head.”

“Uh huh.”

“I swear, I promise. You have a huge dick, hyung.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Would I lie to you?”

Soonyoung sniffs. “Guess not,” he says. “But it wouldn’t hurt to hear it every once in a while.”

“Your dick is so big, it makes my mic look small. I’ve held both plenty of times to think about the difference.”

The serious expression on Chan’s face is what cracks Soonyoung. He grins, and then a laugh slithers out from his clenched teeth. It takes them only seconds to dissolve into helpless, shapeless, voluminous laughter.

“You totally ruined my emotional moment there,” Chan says, smiling, words completely deadpan.

Soonyoung smooths a hand over Chan’s back. “Don’t worry,” he tells Chan, “you’ll have plenty more opportunities to show me your more emotional side.”

Chan considers the thought, rolls it over his tongue. 

“That’s our talent, isn’t it?” Chan asks. “Coming up with new ways to show new sides of ourselves, as Seventeen.”

Soonyoung’s heart gains a couple of pounds in his chest, but Soonyoung ignores the weight of it.

“Exactly,” Soonyoung replies. Even the sentiment coming from his mouth has a strange shape to it, but he ignores that, too.

The colours of Chan’s eyes are smudged in the low lamp light. Nighttime shadows fill in the lines of his face. They are inscrutable but beautiful nonetheless. 

“We'll have to get some rest,” Chan says gently, a hesitant caress of speech through his lips, “if we want to continue showing ourselves on stage.”

Soonyoung swallows. 

“Right,” he says. 

Neither of them move. The viscosity of the air remains the same, preserved by their stillness. 

Soonyoung wills himself to move first. It's his duty as hyung to be responsible, but he gives himself a pat on the back for the effort anyway. 

Before Soonyoung can stand at his full height at Chan’s bedside, he feels Chan’s fingers linger in his shirt. But it's a fleeting pressure, probably an afterthought, perhaps simple fatigue. 

Still Soonyoung lingers. The landscape is not so different from this new vantage point. 

A knock comes to the door before Soonyoung can do anything else. The hollow sound is followed by giggles and the fluidity of the room changes so that Soonyoung doesn't need to swim to the door to open it. 

“I’m recording something for GoSe,” Mingyu tells him. “How does the hyung play with the maknae?”

A quick grin tips Soonyoung's mouth. He takes the camera from Mingyu’s hand easily. 

“A question that boggles the mind, eh?” he says. 

Mingyu grins back at Soonyoung with quirked eyebrows that suggest a roll of the eyes. 

“If you make faces at me,” Soonyoung tells him, “you'll get wrinkles.”

Mingyu pouts, but the expression doesn't last long. He draws his hand before his eyes, bringing his fingers together, relaxing his expression. 

“Good boy,” Soonyoung says. He sees Mingyu’s eyebrows twitch and he tries not to laugh on the spot. “Goodnight, Minggu.”

Mingyu nods and disappears behind the door. 

As Soonyoung adjusts his grip on the camera mount, he feels warmth fill his stomach. One last opportunity to spend time with Chan before night finally washes away. He thanks Mingyu silently. 

Maybe he's got it pretty bad. 


	9. Chapter 9

Soonyoung is fed up with this. 

“I’m fed up with this,” Soonyoung says to Wonwoo. They're at a convenience store near their hotel in Manila, their final tour stop. 

Wonwoo hums in a way that could be interpreted as curious. 

“We'll be home soon,” he says with the presence of someone browsing instant coffee packets, “and there will be much better snacks there, I promise.”

“No, not the—wait, what's wrong with the snacks here?” Soonyoung asks. 

Wonwoo shrugs. “Well, maybe it's just this store, but they never have warm food in stock.” He gestures at an empty glass display with a heat lamp turned on to warm nothing. 

“That's probably because it's, like, two a.m., Wonwoo.”

“Still. This isn't very convenient for a convenience store.”

Wonwoo looks over at him. The overhead lights cast white streaks onto his glasses, obscuring his eyes from Soonyoung's view. 

“But, for once, you’re not talking about food,” Wonwoo says. The hidden eyes behind those glasses always seem to look right through him.

Soonyoung shifts his weight on his feet.

“No,” he says. He tries to have a bit more confidence, if only to save face. Even if it’s Wonwoo he’s dealing with, of all people. “I’m talking about Chan.”

Wonwoo walks over to the tall display of alcohol.

“Listen,” he says, “I’ll get us a bottle of whatever and you can drink it while sitting next to me so you don’t have to contemplate the ramifications of possible alcoholism.”

“That makes me feel so good, Wonwoo, on the inside,” Soonyoung deadpans.

“I’m paying,” Wonwoo replies, like that’s supposed to be some sort of consolation.

It is.

Soonyoung chooses whiskey and they only get a sample size because, well, the ramifications of possible alcoholism. Wonwoo doesn’t have any of it, only watches Soonyoung as he pours some into a hotel room glass.

“Maybe I should get room service,” Wonwoo muses. 

“That for sure would be warm.” Soonyoung inclines his chin towards his companion. “Too bad Filipino specialties are all seafood, huh?”

“I could just get sisig.”

“You could get sisig.”

“I’m gonna get sisig,” Wonwoo says with a note of finality. Soonyoung smiles to himself as Wonwoo gets up to dial the front desk.

“You can have some,” Wonwoo tells him when he returns.

“So gracious tonight,” Soonyoung says. “Is this supposed to cushion my heart when you tell me that I’m a lost cause?”

Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you had such a capacity for pessimism,” he replies. “Though I suppose you don’t exactly have a lot of experience with romance, eh?”

“Okay, I’m gonna drink this now, for the cushion,” Soonyoung says, lifting his glass.

Wonwoo smirks. “Cheers,” he says.

The whiskey burns a little as it goes down, but it’s not bad.

“I’m guessing you came to me so you could bounce ideas off me,” Wonwoo says. “I also heard that alcohol is supposed to help with creativity.”

“I thought that was weed.”

“I’m afraid the rumours are untrue, unfortunately. Though I suppose mixing the two could produce some interesting results.”

“Supporting drug use and homosexuality. Wonwoo, you’re a right rebel, you know that?”

“Let’s not drift too far from the point,” Wonwoo says, but he’s smiling. He picks up his phone. “Do we need to take notes?”

Soonyoung downs the rest of his glass without looking before he gets to his feet. He feels Wonwoo’s eyes on him, observant, but surprisingly light. He paces and he does it freely, without the weight of outside eyes on him, only the watchful gaze of a guardian statue.

“I think,” Soonyoung says, “I need to go big. I need to go all in. I need to show—that I want to commit.”

“Finally,” Wonwoo says. 

“Shut up,” Soonyoung snaps. The words come out of his body at full force and the sudden surge of emotion almost gives him whiplash. 

Wonwoo doesn't blink. 

“Do you need another drink?” Wonwoo asks. He fills Soonyoung's abandoned glass anyway. “It's okay. I’m listening.”

Soonyoung shrinks into himself at the same speed at which he lashed out. He slinks back to Wonwoo’s side and accepts the drink and sips at it gingerly. 

“No, I—yeah, ‘finally’ is the word, isn't it?” he mumbles against the glass. 

“Better late than never,” Wonwoo replies kindly. He doesn't need to be kind. But that's why Soonyoung came to him: he knew he would be. 

“So you think,” Soonyoung says, and he's still hesitating, “that this is the way to do it. Something big. Something—something that'll blow his mind.”

“Well, you've already blown other things, I’m sure,” Wonwoo replies. Bastard just can't help himself. 

Wonwoo leans out of his seat and the movement stirs the air, changes the atmosphere. Soonyoung’s stomach tenses, anticipatory. 

“You know him best,” Wonwoo says gently. “Big will definitely send a message, but as long as it's heartfelt, I’m sure he'll like it. You don't need to be loud to be heard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. “Do you know who you're talking to?” he asks, but the words are slightly deflated. He fiddles with his glass. 

Wonwoo doesn't say anything. Soonyoung begins to pace again. 

“I don't want it to be too cliche,” Soonyoung says, “but it might be funny that way. But I don't want it to be seen as a joke.”

“I’m sorry to say you're gonna have to be serious for once in your life,” Wonwoo tells him. 

Soonyoung takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says on the exhale. “Right. That's what I thought.”

“Just don't ask for his hand in marriage,” Wonwoo says. 

“Oh, so you're the jokester now, huh?” Soonyoung huffs. “You don't wear it as well as me.”

“That's not the point, though, is it?” Wonwoo snaps his fingers. “Stay focused.”

Soonyoung straightens his back. He takes a few more aimless steps before coming to a halt. 

“A song,” Soonyoung says hesitantly, “seems kind of appropriate, right? It's our field. It would come from the heart. A-And I know that it's actually something I can do.”

Wonwoo nods. Then, a knock comes to the door, and Soonyoung nearly falls over, careening in the sudden change in gravity centred in the weight of his heart.

Something fragrant enters the room. Soonyoung's phone buzzes against his thigh. 

[Channie]: hyung where are you?

[Channie]: seungkwan and hansol left and im getting bored…

Soonyoung feels Wonwoo’s eyes drilling through his skin. 

“That's a booty call, isn't it?” Wonwoo asks, smirking. 

“Shut up,” Soonyoung hisses. 

“You're blushing,” he coos. “How sweet.”

If Wonwoo had any idea what went on behind closed doors, he would probably call Soonyoung the opposite of sweet. Soonyoung holds onto that thought and wills his body to be calm. 

Wonwoo leans back in his seat, hands folded in his lap, looking rather villainous, eyes steady on Soonyoung from behind glass. “Don't let routine lull you into a false sense of security,” he says. “If you're gonna make a move, you have to make an action plan. Don't forget.”

Soonyoung holds back a smart reply and nods stiffly instead. 

“It's the last thing I could forget,” Soonyoung mutters, “especially when he's in my arms and—the way he fits against me—”

Something like water building against a dam wall rises in Soonyoung's chest and it takes so much in him to keep it under control. But Wonwoo doesn't say anything. Just watches on, a vigilant guardian, that steady statue. 

“I just want that feeling to last forever,” Soonyoung whispers. It's out now. The water within him evaporates without a sound and he is a collection of vapours. 

Quiet springs out of the ground like weeds crowding against Soonyoung's feet. 

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Wonwoo asks gently. “Just own it. And tell him.”

Soonyoung sighs and wishes it could be easier, but what in the world could be easier than speaking his feelings for Chan? He often finds them boiling over in his chest, uncontained, and the strain of keeping a lid over it all is costly. This should be a relief. 

[Channie]: hyuuuung

[Channie]: don't make me beg

Soonyoung's heart pounds in his chest. He better get into the elevator before his blood pressure goes haywire from all the moving blood. 

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, just to say something, and he can't spare an ounce of shame when his voice comes out breathlessly. 

Wonwoo’s expression doesn't change. He reaches for the sisig on the table. 

“Bring the whiskey,” Wonwoo tells him. “No point in letting it go to waste since I don't want to bring it back.”

Soonyoung grabs it on his way to the door. 

“Thanks,” Soonyoung throws over his shoulder in his haste to move. Wonwoo makes a noncommittal sound around the fried pork in his mouth. 

* * *

It's when they're back home in Seoul that Soonyoung finally gets his sign. 

He's in a convenience store grabbing late night snacks when IU’s Peach comes drifting on the radio. Chan’s favourite kind of protein bar sits heavy in Soonyoung’s palm as the music fills him head to toe. Then, he’s floating, and he’s thinking of Chan’s little crush on IU, and the lyrics start gaining weight in his mind,  _ you know, he’s so beautiful, maybe you will never know, I want to hide you in my embrace, _ and he thinks maybe he doesn’t need to be an award-winning poet to put his feelings into words that Chan will understand.

Someone pushes past him at some point, but it's still not enough to shake his roots dug into his spot in the aisle, snacks in hand.

There's just something about this song and the protein bar and the Seoul air that has settled the storm constantly raging in Soonyoung's stomach. It has pushed something into place with a click almost melodious despite its subtle nature. 

Wonwoo said not to let routine lull him into a false sense of security, but it's the security that makes him certain. In hotel rooms, in those alternate universes, his time with Chan is transitory. But here, as Seventeen, as Hoshi and Dino, and Soonyoung and Chan, he knows who he is and he knows what he wants. 

The song fades into an ad and Soonyoung finally wakes from his reverie with cooler blood and a sweet taste in his mouth. He takes some effort not to buy the whole box of protein bars and distracts himself with a cold can of Monster. 

This is it. This is his sign. He can do this. This is right. 

Words are not exactly Soonyoung's strong suit, but he knows feelings are unique to the individual who experiences them, and he hopes that's enough to get him through this. Usually, he has help when it comes to writing lyrics, but this is personal. 

He should at least write the first draft and edit it before he bares his soul to someone, probably. 

He manages to scribble down ideas between dance practice and choreography team meetings. If he's acting suspicious or not, he can't tell; at least no one tries to read over his shoulder. That might be due to his atrocious handwriting: most people don't attempt to read it without also receiving a consultation from him at the same time. 

Since that day in the convenience store, Soonyoung has had a playlist of IU love songs on repeat. He thinks about their own lyrics—part of him kind of hates how accurate some of them really are, now that he’s accepted that his feelings are some jumbled equivalent to being in love, or whatever.

He’s done this before. It’s fine. It should be fine.

Comeback is on their doorstep and Soonyoung hasn’t finished his song. Putting together a full length album was tough enough on its own, and practicing their new choreo has been as time-consuming as ever. The latest Performance Team song, Lilili Yabbay, has been exhausting.

And maybe he was a little bit disappointed to see that his fingers dancing over Chan’s thigh didn’t make it to the final cut of the music video. But at least it shows in the dance practice video.

Flashes of thought shoot through his brain every time they go over that move during practice, something like satisfaction accompanied by echoing pangs of hunger. This is mine, he thinks, the words giving his feelings a vague body, and only I know what it’s like to touch him like this.

It’s intimate; it’s personal. And that’s something Soonyoung has never shied away from on stage. It doesn’t have to mean something. It often doesn’t. But his truth stands regardless: only Soonyoung knows what it’s like to touch him like that.

And he plans to keep it that way.

“What do you think?” Soonyoung asks, fresh from the salon with red hair.

Chan’s hand is immediately on Soonyoung’s head.

“I don’t know why,” Chan says, “but you remind me of McDonald’s.”

Soonyoung scoffs and bats Chan’s hand out of his hair. Chan backs away without a fight, giggling to himself.

“No, hyung, it looks great,” Chan amends around a laugh.

Soonyoung sniffs. “You’re just saying that,” he says, and he’s pouting, and he’s milking it.

Chan snags Soonyoung by the waist and says, “Don’t cry. Even if you’re cute when you pout. And with your hair all limp like this over your forehead, you’re adorable.”

Smiling to himself, Soonyoung lets himself enjoy the feeling of Chan’s arms around him. Soonyoung rests his fingers over Chan’s arms and lets Chan swing him around like a ragdoll.

“Let’s get fries,” Soonyoung says. “And some iced coffee.”

“Isn’t it cold for an iced coffee?”

“It’s never too cold for an iced coffee.”

Soonyoung pays, of course.

The Performance Team is covered in sweat and panting together in their corner of the practice room. 

“Sorry,” Junhui says, “my timing was off for the clock part again.”

Minghao nudges him. “Are you having trouble seeing?” he asks. “I figured your model height would help you.”

Junhui blinks. “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or not,” he says.

“The mystery is the fun part.” Minghao sweeps his hair out of his face and exhales deeply. “Seriously, though,” he continues, “is it a vision thing? Maybe you need to get your eyes checked.”

The two of them discuss the possible problems. Soonyoung hears them beyond the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, but he’s not really listening.

Chan is wearing shorts today. The building ventilation can’t decide if it wants to have the AC on or not; the late September weather is fickle. It has taken Soonyoung a considerable amount of effort not to sneak his hand up Chan’s leg during practice. Part of him is convinced he can get away with it, just for fun, just for a few seconds. The rest of him wonders what he would gain from a few seconds of foolery.

There are footsteps and Soonyoung looks up to see that Minghao and Junhui have walked off.

“They’re gonna look for a headband,” Chan supplies. “They decided that Jun’s hair is too long and it’s distracting him.”

“If they wanted to take a break, all they had to do was ask,” Soonyoung replies with the suggestion of a smile on his lips. He’s still thinking about Chan’s legs. IU had that feeling spot on in Peach:  _ those legs are so pretty even standing still. _

“I think,” Chan says, “I want to make some choreography for Flower. Do you think the hyungs would want to do it?”

Soonyoung hums. “Well,” he says, “you have Jeonghan in that group, and you know he takes the longest to learn choreography.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Chan tells him, “but I have confidence that I can be a good teacher to him.”

A smile breaks out over Soonyoung’s face. “You’re brave,” he says.

Chan winks. “It helps that Jeonghan can’t help but be swayed by a dongsaeng’s charm.”

“Ah, to be such a role model hyung.”

Then again, Soonyoung thinks, it’d take a heartless man to resist Chan’s smiling face.

“I think you already know that they’d be happy to be a part of anything you made, Channie,” Soonyoung says. He inclines his head towards Chan, considers his angles and the way the light hits the lines on his face.

“It’s hard,” Chan starts, responding to Soonyoung’s silent question, “to think of something that will suit everyone.”

Soonyoung nods. “Yeah. I like to think of it more as trying to make something that will suit the song. Our members are adaptable: they’ll either find a way to fit the choreo to their own style or wear the moves with pride.”

Chan hums. 

“It’s too late to include it in the comeback special,” Soonyoung says slowly.

“Yeah,” Chan agrees. “But—I dunno. I think it’d be a fun side project.”

Soonyoung studies Chan, knowing the futility of the act: Chan is always changing, always growing, when Soonyoung isn’t looking. The Chan of right now is never the same as the Chan of tomorrow, or later tonight, and so on. But observing is a habit. And Soonyoung, on the other hand, is too old to outgrow certain habits.

“Well, go for it, then,” Soonyoung says, and Chan beams. It’s almost funny, the request for permission that Soonyoung isn’t in the position to grant him. But maybe Chan is too old to outgrow certain habits, too.

Junhui and Minghao return and Junhui is wearing a clear visor over his forehead.

“This is your solution?” Soonyoung scoffs. Immediately, Junhui pouts at him.

“It was Minghao’s idea,” he says.

“Sometimes you need something new to give you a different perspective,” Minghao sniffs, lifting his chin.

Soonyoung lifts an eyebrow. “Well, as long as it’s not too distracting,” he relents. Chan stifles a laugh behind his hand.

“Okay, boys, let’s take it from the top,” Soonyoung declares, and maybe being creatures of habit isn’t such a bad thing.

Comeback happens in a flash. It gives them just enough time to schedule appearances at end of the year shows and apply for performance slots at award shows.

Time moves too quickly and Soonyoung doesn’t have a moment to reel from the lurching speed. They receive wins and the number doesn’t match up to what they achieved with Don’t Wanna Cry, but in the aftermath of a long, far-reaching world tour, they can’t even think of being bitter.

Only when Christmas looms on the horizon does Soonyoung get a chance to breathe. His breath is hot against the crisp winter air; something about the season has him brimming and humming with energy. It's probably a biological compensation for the cold. 

Chan comes home from his solo Vlive covered in a light dusting of snow. Soonyoung greets him at the door and helps him with his outer layers. A faint tremble buzzes through them both at their points of connection and Soonyoung thinks of the kettle sitting at the kitchen counter and tries to remember Chan’s favourite tea. 

“Hyung,” Chan says after a moment of quiet. His voice is soft against the cushion of snow surrounding them outside. “I—if it seemed like I was copying your Vlive idea, I promise that wasn't the case,” he says, halting with cold, and Soonyoung feels his blood go hot with anger. 

“Who said that?” Soonyoung spits. “Someone in the comments?”

Chan fidgets with his sleeves, pulling them over his hands. 

“Tea?” Soonyoung asks, suddenly remembering, and he takes Chan’s elbow before he can reply, leading him to the kitchen. Chan's slippered feet are a despondent pad against the floor. His lack of response is enough of a yes for Soonyoung. 

If only he could remember what Chan’s favourite is. Nothing too strong. He goes searching for some green tea. 

“Obviously, you're allowed to do whatever you want on Vlive,” Soonyoung says as he rummages around, “and it's supposed to be an individual effort unless stated otherwise, you know, that's how this social media shit works, right? You'd think that would be clear by now. We're not rookies anymore.”

“Right,” Chan replies slowly. He sounds distant despite the fact that Soonyoung can easily pinpoint his location in their kitchen. “I mean—obviously, it's not a big deal. I just wanted to be clear.”

“It's stupid, you know?” Soonyoung plows on. “What's the point in saying something like that? To make you feel bad? Are they really a fan if they want you to feel bad?”

“Hyung—”

The whistle of the kettle reaches its peak and Soonyoung takes a deep breath. 

“Here,” Soonyoung says. Cups clatter against the table and Soonyoung takes a seat next to Chan. He presses his shoulder up against Chan’s side and brings his own cup up to his face. 

Wordlessly, Chan takes the other cup. He blows on it and his glasses fog up. 

“Obviously they weren't a fan,” Soonyoung mumbles because he can't let go. Chan sips his tea. “So pointless. You were just trying to do something nice for the fans, you know?”

“Dinner,” Chan says. His voice pushes forward with a ferocity that almost startles Soonyoung. “We haven't gone for a while and I could go for something hot.”

Soonyoung blinks and looks up at Chan. “Now?” he asks. 

Chan shrugs. “Up to you,” he replies. “It's late.”

Soonyoung narrows his eyes a little. “You're not gonna offer to pay, are you? After all that, it ought to be—”

“We can pay for our own meals, hyung,” Chan replies with a wry expression. Not quite a smile. 

“Right.” Soonyoung settles and rests his head on Chan’s shoulder. 

“You know what else we haven't done in a while?” Soonyoung asks. A smile sneaks onto his lips as he turns towards Chan. 

There's a blush on Chan’s face when he meets his eye. 

“Y-Yeah,” Chan says. “I mean—I do know, yes. We've—um, we've been busy, and all that.”

“It's okay if you're too tired,” Soonyoung says. Awkwardness looms over his shoulder. He tries to ignore it. “I was just—”

“I think,” Chan says, “it's just what I need after spending time in the cold.”

“Oh.” Something warm unfurls in Soonyoung's chest; he can't be sweating already, but he might be. “Damn. You're right.”

As Soonyoung drinks, his thoughts start to take form and build at a quickly increasing pace. They really haven’t done this in a while. He hasn’t touched his butthole in weeks. What if Chan’s dick got bigger? He can’t be limping— 

Chan reaches over and wraps his fingers around Soonyoung’s wrist. The sleeve of his oversized knit sweater falls to hang around the heel of his palm, warm against Soonyoung’s arm.

“I’ve missed it,” Chan says softly. “It’d be nice… We can ease back into it, while we have holiday time.”

Soonyoung slips his hand into Chan’s. His fingers maneuvre around the excess fabric between the both of them before weaving into Chan’s. Quiet melts over them with an opaque, heavy viscosity, slowly dripping over Soonyoung’s eyes. Not that he wants to look quite yet, anyway.

“I’ve missed it, too,” Soonyoung says. The words have trouble squeezing out of his tight throat.

He’s blushing now, too. He lowers his head against the steam of his tea.

“Let’s finish this up,” Chan says, “and head to our usual place?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They huddle next to each other during the entirety of the walk over to the company building. Snow crunches under their feet, thunderous in Soonyoung’s ears, matched only by his pounding heart.

They’ve done this countless times; Soonyoung doesn’t understand his sudden trepidation. His one consolation is that Chan seems to be mirroring his tremulous anticipation. He can only hope it isn’t projection.

Together, in static, voluminous, cottony quiet, they ride the elevator, holding hands.

The lights on this particular floor take some time to come to life. The motion sensors are roused by their presence: the lights blink and the radiators yawn. Hand in hand, the two trot over to their special conference room, their little world away from scrutinizing eyes.

The room is chilly when they enter, full of stiff air. Chan steps forward, ahead of Soonyoung, to set his bag down.

A shiver rolls through Soonyoung’s body. He unzips his jacket despite the cold, the drag of metal a dull scrape in the room, and closes the space between him and Chan.

He’s rusty. Chan is, too. Soonyoung is eager to generate warmth, but he finds he hesitates when Chan’s body heat enters the atmosphere of his own, two planets colliding—fragility that could fracture under the force of impact.

But the first touch of lips is intoxicating, heady, hot, and Soonyoung feels the ice melt from his joints immediately, like the sloughing of an old skin. Soonyoung crawls into Chan’s space and wraps around him.

Maybe calling it ‘home’ is cliche, but reuniting like this, reigniting their connection, feels like coming home. Chan is his home. It’s why he keeps coming back. He can be himself around Chan, explore himself, learn new things about himself. Nothing is safer than being here.

Chan’s nose is cold against Soonyoung’s hot cheek. The contrast keeps him on his toes, sensation pebbling his skin. His breath gusts hotly in his lungs and he is quivering with life. And maybe something else. Maybe another L-word.

Their clothes are shed in the susurrant quiet. Soonyoung’s eyelids are weighty, stricken, but Soonyoung tries not to let his nerves show. His eyes remain shuttered as they undress.

But his defenses don’t last long in the face of Chan, and Soonyoung couldn’t have expected any less. Chan’s hands have memorized the lines of Soonyoung’s seams and his fingers cut into them with ease; Soonyoung frays at his touch, panting, desperately hard against Chan’s thigh.

Soonyoung’s fingers dig into Chan’s back, holding him close, bending Chan’s body towards him while also balancing Chan against the conference table. Chan whines a steady rhythm high in his chest as Soonyoung opens him up.

It has been some time since they last did this, sure, but it results in urgency rather than hesitation. 

Soonyoung catches a glimpse of Chan’s face as they continue to weave around each other and their disappearing clothes. Chan’s dark eyes and furrowed brow and pink lips give Soonyoung pause; they pull his breath out of his lungs.

“Hyung,” Chan calls, the syllable crooked in his mouth, knocked askew by his breath. His hands are claws against Soonyoung’s hips.

Soonyoung sweeps two fingers over the top of Chan’s brow, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes. Chan’s eyelids stutter slowly over his eyes before they fall shut.

Nothing else is said between them as they finally rid themselves of their remaining clothes.

Hunger possesses Soonyoung fully as he climbs over Chan and presses him flat against the table. Chan shivers but his gaze doesn’t waver, moulded into Soonyoung’s skin. Soonyoung is glad for it, for the pressure and heat of Chan’s eyes on him, but at the same time he feels it is his right to hold Chan’s attention in such a tight, vice grip. It’s his. It’s right.

Soonyoung doesn’t care enough to give himself time to prep; they can always go for anal when they plan for it. For now, Soonyoung spits into his hand and holds their cocks together. His vision goes blurry as sensation cracks through him like lightning, like a whip across his spine, and his eyes decide they don’t want to stay open. He negotiates with his body weight over Chan’s, but Chan only moans and opens up, cradling Soonyoung with his generous thighs, and Soonyoung slots in between them and forgets about his weight so he can think only of his pleasure. He thinks only of Chan, Chan and his breath hot on his cheek, Chan and his quivering stomach sending tremors through Soonyoung, Chan and his coal eyes burning holes through Soonyoung.

“Soonyoung,” Chan pants, and the full two syllables clatter through Soonyoung’s ears. There’s weight there and Soonyoung feels it in the curling network of his nerves. “Soonyoung, I—”

“I’m here,” Soonyoung replies. Chan moans and his body gasps for hungry gulps of air.

“Soonyoung,” Chan says again. Soonyoung’s name is a hook in his chest, not an unfamiliar sensation, but what tugs and wrenches him open is Chan’s next burst of words: “Soonyoung, I love you—” followed by Chan’s nose and lips against Soonyoung’s neck when Chan comes.

Time slows for a second or two as Soonyoung’s brain and body fight for control. Then, Chan bites him, and the shock of sensation yanks Soonyoung back into the physical world and chains him there. He goes willingly. Chan’s teeth are an anchor and Soonyoung gladly sinks into him.

With Chan’s orgasm providing Soonyoung with slickness, it’s easy for him to follow, to fall into Chan’s waiting arms.

The hum of the radiator is an embrace around their tangled bodies. Soonyoung rides the rhythm of it, the flat, steady line of sound. He’s floating. 

No, that’s not quite right. He’s being lifted. Chan holds him up. As he always does. As he hopes he will always do.

He realizes then, with slowness, that Chan’s face is still buried against his neck.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says, an experimental reach into now-uncharted territory. Into what new world has Chan thrusted them? Soonyoung realizes, belated once more, that the plans for his elaborate confession have now been splintered completely, broken and incomprehensible.

But, he also realizes, this is  _ it.  _ This is his sign. Not to confess, but to trust Chan, the one with whom he’s been sharing his body, his most intimate parts. Trust that Chan can take care of him, as he’s tasked himself with doing for Chan all this time.

“Hyung,” Chan replies timidly. Still hiding.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says again, and it’s a song on his tongue. “Chan, you—”

“I’m sorry,” Chan rushes to say, and the tension in his throat ties knots in Soonyoung’s chest.

“You’re sorry?”

“I—” Chan swallows his sentiments before he tries again: “I mean—I’m sorry that I said it like that.” Breathlessness skirts around his words. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to be now, of all times—”

Soonyoung grins. He lifts himself onto his palms, revealing a pink Chan with his onyx eyes covered with soft lines.

“You said you love me,” Soonyoung says.

Chan swallows again. He doesn’t look up.

“Yes,” he says. Finally, he opens his eyes, and they blow open upon witnessing Soonyoung’s expression. They reflect sunshine, and Soonyoung supposes he couldn’t hide his happiness even if he tried.

“I did,” Chan says, and his brows furrow. Some part of him must be tumbling through his thoughts. 

Soonyoung leans down and brushes his thumb over Chan’s cheek. Chan’s lips part and breath flows between them freely, shakily.

“You said it during sex,” Soonyoung tells him. “There’s no take-backs.”

Chan rolls his eyes and Soonyoung laughs at such a comical, exaggerated expression.

“I had no plan to—to take it back,” Chan huffs. His eyes wander once they finish their revolution. 

Soonyoung’s floating and he’s happy to take Chan with him.

“Do you want me to say it back?” Soonyoung asks.

Chan scowls. Soonyoung laughs.

“What kind of fucking question is that?” Chan spits.

“I love you, Lee Chan,” Soonyoung answers.

Chan goes still.

“I-I mean,” Chan says, his voice thin like a glass bell, “you didn’t have to—if you didn’t—”

Soonyoung sighs and fans his fingers over Chan’s cheek. His hand drifts lower, over Chan’s jaw and neck, before coming to rest flat on his chest.

“I do,” Soonyoung says. It’s a weight off his shoulders, an unfurling of wings. “I really do.”

The rise of Chan’s brow, the shape of his skin twisted by muscle underneath, tugs at Soonyoung somewhere visceral, but the thought disappears in a flash when Chan surges upwards to kiss him.

There is nothing to decipher. There is nothing hidden; there never was. Chan reaches for him like a sunflower straining to sunlight, like he always has. But words make a world of their own, and in this one, Soonyoung loves Chan, and Chan loves him in return. To hear it aloud creates solid certainty, a foundation for Soonyoung to stand on, to stand tall; it makes a world of difference.

Chan tangles his fingers in Soonyoung’s hair, lays down his roots. Soonyoung is steady in Chan’s gravity.

“So,” Soonyoung says, cheek to cheek with Chan, “did I fuck you so hard you fell in love with me?”

Chan scoffs and Soonyoung feels the sharp exhale in his chest. He grins.

“Maybe,” Chan replies. “But, then again, it’s usually me doing the fucking, eh?”

“So you’re saying my ass is irresistible.”

Chan turns his head and plants a kiss to Soonyoung’s cheek. He leans back on one elbow, his other arm draped over Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“Hyung,” Chan says, “I just confessed mid-orgasm, so, you know, you don’t need me to spell it out for you. Can’t I get some slack?”

Soonyoung laughs. He collapses against Chan’s chest, ear against Chan’s heart, and slithers his arms around Chan’s waist.

“Okay, Channie, okay,” he says. “You’re right. You really—I mean. That worked out for me, in all honesty, since you ended up doing the hard part.”

“Yes, I do prefer when you’re hard,” is Chan’s airy response.

Soonyoung snorts. “I—you know, I was trying to think of this elaborate plan to, like, confess,” he says, a confession by its own right.

Chan turns his head, meets Soonyoung’s eye. He lifts his chin to kiss the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth. When he settles again, a smile lifts his lips, curves his eyes.

“Is that so,” he asks.

Soonyoung swallows. Chan tilts his head to kiss Soonyoung’s adam’s apple.

“Um,” Soonyoung stutters.

“No, I’m interested,” Chan assures him.

“You’re distracting me.”

“Deal with it.”

“A song,” Soonyoung continues in a burst of breath. Chan nibbles on Soonyoung’s collarbone.

“Mmhmm?”

“I was thinking o-of writing you, um, a song.”

“That’s sweet, hyung.”

Soonyoung laughs a breathless laugh. “But, you know me,” he says, “I’m no good at doing those kinds of things on my own—you and I, we usually work on lyrics together, don’t we?”

“Yes, hyung.”

Soonyoung’s brain feels bodiless in his skull. Soonyoung sighs, somewhere between dreamy and resigned, and hoists his weight onto his palms.

Chan looks up at him and pouts.

“What?” Chan asks.

“Are you listening to me?” Soonyoung asks in return.

Chan smiles. “Yes, hyung,” he says again. “Of course I was. I was thinking that it was very sweet, and that I was trying to come up with something similar, but I was also thinking that it kind of simplified things, you know, to say it the way I did.”

Soonyoung nods, a dip of his chin. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agrees.

Chan tugs Soonyoung down so that they’re chest to chest again.

“So,” Chan says, “I think it’d be nice to, like, enjoy that simplicity for a little bit.”

The simplicity of their bodies pressed together, seamless, threads perfectly woven together. It’s the kind of straightforward certainty Soonyoung has been craving, despite it being in front of him this entire time.

Soonyoung hums. “Okay,” he replies. “Yeah, that sounds good to me.”

“Good.” Chan kisses Soonyoung’s cheek again. His nose is warm against Soonyoung’s skin, velvety soft, comfortably human in the way it draws in and releases breath.

Chan continues to press his lips along Soonyoung’s face until they meet Soonyoung’s mouth. Soonyoung lets him in. And it’s simple. And it’s good.


	10. Chapter 10

The nighttime moon takes its wintertime nap and the sun slowly inches across the late-morning sky. That night, Soonyoung couldn’t resist burrowing into Chan’s bed; confidence is a strong elixir with effects not easily shaken off. Their bond is one acknowledged by the rest of the group, explicitly or not, so no one bats an eye at the temporary arrangement.

Someone’s alarm goes off and sheets rustle. Slippers slide against the floor. Grumbles drift through the air before clattering to the ground like loose change.

Soonyoung and Chan are lumps in the bottom bunk of a twin-sized bed, half-asleep, content to let the world move around them for once rather than try to move the world. Soonyoung’s head lies nestled against Chan’s chest, pillowed by minute shifting, the consequence of breath.

A phone vibrates. Someone else leaves the room. The bedroom door hangs open, inviting winter air inside, until the last occupant of the room shuffles out and closes the door with a click.

Eventually, Chan stirs.

“Need to pee,” he mumbles. He tries to roll over and does nothing but throw one leg forward. Soonyoung catches it in the side.

“Not on me,” Soonyoung whines.

“So let me go.”

“No.”

“Then I’m gonna pee on you.”

Soonyoung groans and complains and sighs, but he shifts so that Chan has enough space to get up.

“Actually, I need to pee, too,” Soonyoung announces.

He grabs Chan’s forearm and pulls him to his feet. Together, they wobble over to the nearest bathroom. Soonyoung, ever the gentleman, lets Chan use the toilet first and examines a pimple in the mirror.

They negotiate the space of the small room so they can switch sides. It’s an old routine. Chan splashes his face with water as Soonyoung goes about his business.

When Soonyoung shoulders Chan away from the sink, they make eye contact in the mirror. Soonyoung scrunches his nose and Chan giggles, the sound scratchy with sleep.

Soonyoung turns his head and presses a peck to the corner of Chan’s lips. Then, he uses Chan’s shirt to wipe his hands.

“Die,” Chan grumbles, going for Soonyoung’s sides with his fingertips.

They return to bed. Its gravity is too great to resist. Soonyoung scrolls through his emails with unseeing eyes and Chan skims through the group chat.

“Seokmin made ramyeon,” Chan states, “and Mingyu wants to order chicken.”

“Cool,” Soonyoung replies. He doesn’t remember subscribing to half of the mailing lists that fill his inbox, but now he’s looking at clothes online.

“You’re not hungry?”

“Mm.” Soonyoung puts down his phone so he can put his lips in a circle over Chan’s cheek. He makes an exaggerated sucking sound before going back to his phone. “Alright, satisfied.”

Chan makes a noise of surprise. “You’re annoying,” he says.

“Tell me something new.”

Chan noses Soonyoung’s jaw until Soonyoung sets his phone aside. With his arms free, Soonyoung makes an excellent target for cuddling.

The warmth of Chan’s embrace lulls Soonyoung to a state close to sleeping, but it’s interrupted by Chan’s voice.

“So,” Chan says, “you like me.”

Soonyoung turns so that his chin rests on Chan’s head.

“Yes,” Soonyoung replies.

Chan shifts. His lips brush Soonyoung’s neck as he speaks. “Um, how long—have you known for a while?”

The truth is heavy with guilt on Soonyoung’s tongue.

“Something like that, yeah,” is all he can admit, for the moment.

“Oh, okay.” Chan’s fingertips twitch over Soonyoung’s back. Then: “Me, too.”

Soonyoung speaks in a rush: “I was—I needed to find the right time, you know, I needed to do it right. I needed you to know that I was in it, through and through, with my whole heart, so I needed to figure it out first, you know, and I—I didn’t think it would take so long.”

Chan’s feather-light touch gains confidence and glides down Soonyoung’s back with downy-soft reassurance.

“Hyung,” Chan says, “it’s okay. I mean—it was pretty much the same for me, too. The sex was pretty much second nature by the time I realized how I felt, so I was stuck on what to do next. What was there to do next, really?”

“All that was left was to say it, I guess,” Soonyoung replies quietly. He shifts and lowers his head so he can bring their foreheads together. “I don’t know why I was so—fucking terrified that you would reject me. Like, yeah, maybe someone else would think of it as just sex. But we’re teammates, too. We’re friends. Maybe—maybe it was a hormone thing, to skip a couple steps and go straight for dick touching. But feelings have always been there.”

Chan smiles and Soonyoung feels the muscles in his face shift in the tiny space between them.

“I love you,” Chan says. “I’ve meant it every time I said it, whether it be in passing or through text—”

“Or in the middle of an orgasm.”

Chan rolls his eyes, wearing a smile.

“Or in the middle of an orgasm,” he concedes. “I just—I do. I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too, Channie.”

Soonyoung presses the sentiment against Chan’s mouth with a hard, clumsy, heated kiss that is met with the same intensity, physical sincerity.

“You really bring out the best in me,” Soonyoung says. “You make me a better hyung and a better dancer. I look at you, and I see your hard work, and I can’t help but want to do the same, to push and strive for more in the same way.”

Chan giggles and leans in for another kiss. The babbling stream of soft sentiments turns to mist in Soonyoung’s chest.

“You don’t have to butter me up, hyung,” Chan murmurs. He tilts his head and brushes his lips against the slope of Soonyoung’s jaw. “I’m already yours.”

“I’m just stating facts,” Soonyoung whines. Chan continues to kiss a trail down Soonyoung’s neck.

“So am I.”

“You’re bad at taking compliments.”

“And you’re really hot.”

Soonyoung whines again, a whimpering noise of incomprehension.

“Still stating facts,” Chan clarifies. His grin is a press of teeth against Soonyoung’s chest.

Soonyoung swallows and his throat works against Chan’s mouth. There’s heat and tantalizing traces of possessiveness that tempts Soonyoung’s throat into an incline, an offering to the want presented before him.

“I’m yours, just as you’re mine,” Chan says, “right?”

Soonyoung’s body curls towards Chan in an irrefutable admission of truth.

“Yes,” Soonyoung hisses.

“Good.”

Before Chan can descend upon Soonyoung like the prey that he is, so vulnerable to his maknae’s charms, Soonyoung opens his mouth one more time and says, “You can’t take compliments so you seduce me instead. Obviously, I have no choice but to fall in love.”

Chan’s chest expands in a breathy, warm laugh that diffuses through Soonyoung’s body.

“Maybe that was the plan all along,” Chan says.

It’s a damn good plan, Soonyoung has to admit.

* * *

Christmas comes and goes with trips back home for most of them. They’re short-lived holidays: most members can’t stand to be away from work for too long, and reuniting with each other is like coming home to family a second time.

The year ends with a big music festival and Soonyoung can’t help but thrust his favourite dongsaeng out into the spotlight when he gets the chance.

“This year, our Dino is becoming an adult,” Soonyoung says into the microphone. He has his other arm around Chan’s shoulders. “Why don’t you say a few words about the upcoming new year, Dino?”

Chan shoots Soonyoung a glance, his lips in a lopsided half-smile, before he takes the offered microphone and says his piece.

It’s been some time (read: three days) since Soonyoung has realized that Chan is becoming an adult this new year. The revelation comes with mixed feelings, including thoughts like “have we really been fucking this long?” and “I can’t believe I seduced a minor,” and “oh my god, I’m getting old.”

There’s definitely no use in getting caught up in these internalized shame schemes, not at this point. Soonyoung imagines Chan would have some choice words to say and some eyes to roll upon hearing these thoughts.

To redirect his thoughts, Soonyoung chooses to instead focus on Chan’s upcoming birthday. Immediately, his thoughts go to gift-giving. Last year, he’d offered his body. He’s not so sure if that will suffice this year.

It’s mid-January, after their Golden Disk Awards performance, when Seungkwan nudges Soonyoung in the side.

“Did you buy anything for Chan’s birthday this year?” he asks in a low tone. Probably aiming for surreptitious.

“You have no proof I didn’t get him anything last year,” Soonyoung sniffs.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever, not the point. Though I know for a fact that you did not.”

Soonyoung pouts.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” is Seungkwan’s next jab.

Soonyoung releases a weary sigh from his chest.

“No,” he admits. “I’ve been stumped.” He narrows his eyes in Seungkwan’s direction. “Why, did you?”

Seungkwan’s lips lift in a wry tilt.

“Nah,” he replies. “I was hoping talking to you would give me some inspiration, but that was a bad idea, evidently.”

“It’s hard when countless fans can put their heads together to pick something glamourous,” Soonyoung sighs. “And in high quantities.”

“I thought you were his favourite hyung,” Seungkwan says. His lips quirk into a smirk. Soonyoung isn’t sure he likes the expression: it seems threatening, somehow. “Shouldn’t you know how to beat some fans?”

“It’s not a competition.” Soonyoung frowns. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t you, though?”

Seungkwan grins.

“I didn’t,” he insists, “but maybe I know how to speak to your brain without you noticing.”

“Favourite doesn’t mean smart,” Soonyoung replies, a lament.

“Oh, I know. But I was hoping it meant resourceful, at the very least.”

“Bullying me is not the solution to a mutual problem.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

Seungkwan grins with all his teeth.

Maybe it’s a working solution.

Two heads are better than one. That’s likely the reason Soonyoung ended up in this mess in the first place, a result of two cock heads frequently colliding. Not that he says anything to Seungkwan, but suspicion hangs on his shoulders like an itch he can’t reach. Good thing he’s learned how to ignore these kinds of feelings.

They surf through Soonyoung’s usual online stores. They go through Seungkwan’s as well.

With a huff, Soonyoung rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“Listen,” he says to the air, “I’m just gonna click on something random and expensive and let it be.”

“You can’t,” Seungkwan says. He sounds like an actor straight out of a daytime drama.

“What difference does it make? We’ve spent, like, an hour just browsing. All the popular stuff’s the same and he already has what he needs. I might as well pick something random and try to make it work.”

He feels Seungkwan’s gaze on his temple like a vulture inspecting a fresh carcass.

“We went through all that and nothing felt special to you?” Seungkwan asks.

Soonyoung puts a hand over his eyes. “Sure, the stuff was nice, but I don’t know about special,” he mutters. “At least, there wasn’t anything I felt would make him feel special. You know?”

Seungkwan snorts. “You’re whipped,” he says.

“Maybe I am.”

Seungkwan hums. He comes up beside Soonyoung on the bed and puts his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“Okay, let’s try plan, uh, E,” he says. “This is my last resort, since I hate the idea of doing this as a way to buy birthday gifts, but why don’t you try putting yourself in his shoes?”

“I would like anything he got me,” Soonyoung says airily, easily.

Seungkwan pushes his head against Soonyoung’s cheek.

“You’re easy,” he says.

When Soonyoung heaves a sigh big enough to fill the room, Seungkwan huffs a few breaths of helpless laughter that cut through Soonyoung’s heavy melancholy.

“You’re easy,” Seungkwan says again, “but now I’m starting to think Chan is, too.”

Seungkwan sits up. Soonyoung follows suit a moment after.

“Please don’t just buy something random,” Seungkwan says with a serious hand on Soonyoung’s knee. “But—don’t stress out too much about it needing to be special. I think that’s what we can take away from all this.”

A corner of Seungkwan’s mouth lifts. “That, and an addicion to online window shopping,” he adds. “I can’t believe we spent an hour just looking at stuff. I think I need to take a fucking walk.”

He laughs and gets to his feet.

“Maybe I’ll get him a hat while I’m out there, who knows,” Seungkwan adds. He scoops up his phone from the bed and uses his other hand to pat Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“Godspeed,” is his goodbye before he takes his exit.

Soonyoung waits until after the GV to give his present to Chan.

The theatre dressing room has a different feeling than the ones that they frequent at music shows; the lighting is different; the air is different. The architecture of the theatre constructs a different landscape, brushstrokes more individual and stark to the eye, and their fans paint unique, striking hues that manage to complement each other seamlessly.

It fills him with a new type of electricity, energy that simmers his blood with a different kind of heat. His body enjoys any kind of burn; he feels in his element.

Still, the energy leaves him thrumming, and it takes more effort than he’d like to admit to be still as he sits amongst the boys and shares Chan’s cake. A towel lies over Chan’s shoulder, sticky and fluffy with white icing; Soonyoung doesn’t need to taste Chan to know he’s still covered in sweetness. Despite the sugar in his mouth, Soonyoung finds himself craving.

He feels ready, but the feeling brings with it impatience. A tiger waiting in the grass to pounce, haunches raised and shifting back and forth.

“We’ll take care of cleanup,” Josh says to Chan once the various utensils have been brought to rest on the table. He gives a sweeping gesture in the direction of the oldest hyungs.

“You don’t have to,” Chan says, but he doesn’t move towards the table.

Josh just smiles and taps Chan’s cheek.

“We want to,” he says sweetly.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Seungcheol protests. It earns him an elbow to the ribs delivered directly by Jeonghan.

“Ow,” Seungcheol complains. The pout on his face quickly brightens into a smile when he meets Chan’s eye. “I’m just joking. Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Before Chan can get swept away in the crowd of people, Seventeen members and staff alike, that disperses throughout the theatre, Soonyoung grabs his elbow.

“Chan,” he says, and his throat seizes when Chan looks up at him with expectant eyes.

“Yes, hyung?” he replies, on cue, dazzling in the light.

Soonyoung stares at him for a moment. Chan’s lips lift into a smile.

“Have you got something for me?” Chan asks.

“How can you see right through me?” is Soonyoung’s weary reply. He drops his grip from Chan’s elbow to hold his hand. Chan immediately laces their fingers together.

“You never make an effort to hide anything from me,” Chan says. His smile has yet to fade. “I appreciate your transparency more than you could ever know.”

Soonyoung doesn’t know what Chan’s talking about, but he doesn’t feel an urgent need to ask questions. The statement slides off his back as he guides Chan back to the dressing rooms. He pulls Chan into the neighbouring one, where the members had waited for each other when their main dressing room got too full of moving bodies.

The door closes behind them with a click. Soonyoung presses a palm flat to the door for a second and takes a deep breath.

“You hid it in here? Seriously?”

Chan’s voice echoes in the empty room. Suitcases and handbags and shoulder bags lie haphazardly over various surfaces; Soonyoung ignores Chan’s question and steps over the abandoned battlefield and makes a beeline for his backpack.

“Sometimes, it’s easier to hide things in plain sight,” Soonyoung replies. The zipper of his bag rips through the room like thunder. “Or something like that. Or whatever.”

Chan crosses the room with ease, eyes set on Soonyoung, never wavering. Soonyoung’s stomach tenses and his breath thins. His hand closes around a box in his bag.

“Here,” Soonyoung says and thrusts the box towards Chan, who is much closer than Soonyoung anticipates. He almost crushes the box to Chan’s chest.

With a breathless laugh, Chan takes the box. He tilts it between both hands, gauging the weight inside.

“It’s—oh, come on, just open it,” Soonyoung huffs.

“So impatient,” Chan coos.

Soonyoung scoffs. “As you know well by now,” he mutters.

Chan looks up at Soonyoung, eyes big at this angle, his chin pointed towards his chest. The irritation quickly melts off Soonyoung’s face.

Chan shakes the box one more time before he finally sets his fingers on the ribbon keeping the whole thing together.

“In-store gift wrapping,” Soonyoung mumbles, despite no one asking, feeling helpless in the silence.

The box is white, as is the ribbon that encases it. When Chan lifts the lid, a bed of dark blue velvet reflects light, shimmering just slightly around its charge: a matching set of chains, one shorter than the other.

“It’s, um, it’s white gold,” Soonyoung says.

“It’s beautiful, hyung,” Chan says.

“Something a little more neutral than regular gold,” Soonyoung continues. “So, you know, you can wear it with anything.”

Chan lifts the smaller chain.

“This is a bracelet?” he asks.

Soonyoung nods. He swallows.

“Um,” Soonyoung says, “I, uh, also have a matching set.”

Soonyoung rummages through his backpack and pulls out a dark blue velvet drawstring bag.

“I don’t mean to steal your thunder or anything,” Soonyoung is quick to say, “but I thought—I dunno, I thought it would be nice to, you know, have something that matches. That we can wear out or whenever just so we can—match.”

“Like couples’ jewelry?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung is nervous to look at Chan’s expression. He stares at the bag in his hand. Maybe he isn’t as ready as he initially thought.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung mumbles. “It’s—I swear it wasn’t an excuse to buy something for myself, too, but I thought it would be nice to use it as, as an opportunity to—”

He swallows and feels the shape of the words bubbling in his throat poke at the roof of his mouth, his sensitive tongue.

“To, like, formally ask you out, or something,” Soonyoung finishes. His tongue feels bruised. He swallows again.

Finally, he looks up.

“Soonyoung,” Chan says. The smile on his face is new, shines with novelty, sparkles with pure affection pulled together on the spot, like untouched snow glittering in very early sunlight, hues of purple of the colouring sky reflected over pristine, organic surfaces.

Soonyoung feels the air punched out of his lungs at the sight.

“Chan,” Soonyoung says, trying not to choke up. The corners of his lips are tight and his jaw is stiff. “Chan, I don’t know who I’d be without you, you know? I don’t know where I’d be, either. I definitely wouldn’t be here. I definitely wouldn’t be part of the Seventeen we know today.”

Soonyoung reaches for one of Chan’s hands and Chan meets him halfway.

“It has been my greatest joy to watch you grow as a person and as a performer,” Soonyoung tells him. It feels like wrenching words engraved onto the walls of his guts out into the open. “And, on your birthday, I—I’m reminded of just how much you’ve grown. And I feel lucky. I feel lucky to have seen these sides of you, and I look forward to how else you’ll grow.”

Soonyoung swallows his voice like dull plastic. His mouth feels so dry.

“So, Lee Chan,” Soonyoung continues, “will you give me the privilege of continuing to watch you grow? I know I’ve been given a special spot at your side, and in your bed, and in your arms. I just—I hope you’ll continue to let me stay here, by your side.”

Chan bows his head. His free hand rises and wipes at his face.

“You’re not supposed to make the birthday boy cry,” Chan mumbles.

“Channie,” Soonyoung calls immediately, dropping Chan’s hand to take Chan’s head into his grip.

Chan opens his eyes, opalescent with tears, light refracted enough to make them grow in size.

“Of course I will,” Chan says. His voice wavers. His throat wobbles when he swallows. “Hyung—thank you. It’s beautiful. And I’ll proudly wear it, knowing you have the matching set.”

He sniffles. Soonyoung catches the first tear that falls, but Chan bows his head once the tear slips past the barrier of his eyelids.

“Dammit,” Chan mutters. 

When Soonyoung leans forward to wipe Chan’s face, Chan resists, leaning back on his feet. But his reluctance doesn’t last very long.

“Feels like my face is melting,” Chan grumbles.

“I’ve got makeup wipes in my bag,” Soonyoung says. Chan doesn’t reply; Soonyoung takes it upon himself to locate the wipes.

Each stroke of the cloth across Chan’s face is lined with reverence, adoration in the curl of Soonyoung’s fingers, love in the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against Chan’s skin.

Soonyoung discards the cloth with a twist of his waist before turning back to Chan to fan his face with his hands. Chan’s face screws up and his eyes remain closed.

Eventually, Chan grabs Soonyoung by the wrists and pushes his hands down between their bodies.

“So,” Soonyoung says once Chan has opened his eyes again, “do you like the gift?”

“Do I like the—oh my god.” Chan rolls his eyes. The sharpness of the gesture is lost to the slight redness that tinges the corners of his eyes. “Yes, hyung. I love it. More than anything.”

“Put it on,” Soonyoung urges.

There’s some negotiation with space and clothes and hair, but it doesn’t take long for Chan to put on the chains. Soonyoung brushes his thumb over the collar of Chan’s shirt and admires the shine of the necklace.

Soonyoung lifts his eyes to meet Chan’s.

“I love you,” Soonyoung says.

A bright grin claims Chan’s face. He lights up like a star.

“I love you too,” he replies.


End file.
